When I was a kid, we sold candy bars at school for a fundraiser. The top seller got $50, and everyone got a prize based on how much they sold. The top prizes were incredible; the bottom prizes, not so much. Growing up in a low-income family, it was always a struggle to sell to broke folks. But I did have a couple of neighbors on whom my hopes and dreams solely rested.

One was a farm family not too far away that had a chicken house and a bread truck. These fine folks were the hardest-working people my young self had ever witnessed, up every morning at 5 a.m. to go check them chickens. I can still hear that black square-body GMC rumble to life like an alarm clock. They were always good to me and would buy whatever I was selling.

The other family I could count on lived at the very start of Hogjaw Road. This family owned a restaurant. I got off the bus with a full box of candy bars that went for a buck each, and after dropping off my backpack, I set out to climb the economic ladder. I decided to start with the neighbor farther away, the restaurant family. I walked up to the nice brick house and knocked on the door. In a few seconds, a friendly old gentleman I knew as my neighbor appeared, and I gave him the pitch: “Would you like to buy some candy bars to support my school? They’re $1 each.”

Then my wildest dream came true. He said, “I’ll take the whole box, and I want you to bring me two more tomorrow!”

I was in shock and awe as he handed me the cash, a crisp $50 bill. Before he could change his mind, I said, “YES, SIR!” and ran all the way home, excited that I would soon be on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. I could barely sleep that night, and school the next day was insufferable.

That afternoon, I loaded the bus with candy bars in hand and couldn’t wait to get to his door. When I ran up into his yard carrying not one but two boxes of delicious chocolate bars, there were lots of cars. I figured he must be having a party, and in my mind that meant even more customers. I rang the doorbell with a big smile on my face, ready to make the sale.

The door opened, and it was his wife, and she was crying. I looked around her for my guy and quickly said, “Hey, I was told to come back and bring the man who lives here some candy bars.”

That’s when she told me, “I’m sorry to tell you, but he passed away today from a heart attack.”

I was in shock! Did I kill him? Did he eat all that chocolate?! All I could say as I backed away was, “I didn’t sell him any candy bars.” Then I ran all the way home.

I’ve been selling something ever since. These days, it’s not candy bars; it’s ideas.

A few people who have been kind enough to read my nonsense have asked about my motives. They’re simple. I like to tell stories, I like to advance truth, and I like to tell both good news and the Good News. I’d like to keep writing and sharing perspectives and materials that are common sense and advance conservative thought. Eventually, I’d like to write a book about what a lucky rascal I really am: to be born into my family, to have been raised broke but not poor, and to have been raised in Hogjaw, Alabama, USA, possibly the greatest spot in the world for a bright-eyed, rambunctious youth. Wow.

That’s what I’m selling.