Emphasis Preaching Journal

Sometimes it seems as if it was only yesterday when I was a lad of twelve, riding on my bicycle with a friend named Tom. We stopped near a berry patch near Tom's house and another boy rode up. Tom did not like the other boy, and smeared berries on his face. The boy screamed, picked up a rock, and threw it. The rock hit me above the left eye, and I bled profusely. I went home to my mother crying, probably losing face in front of Tom; I forget. I remember the tears though.