Of course, a moral dilemma ran through my vintage- clothes -selling brain. But, I knew that I had priced my 1968 era camp sweatshirt cheaply at $5.00 expecting that maybe a skinny jeans hipster would purchase it and cut off the sleeves or something.
"Five dollars," was my honest reply.
"You have no idea how much this sweatshirt means to me. Camp Mitchell! I grew up at this camp. My mom used to run this camp."
After briefly visiting with this sweet girl, I discovered that I was familiar with her mother. She had been the first woman rector in the church of my childhood.
After realizing the connection, I asked, ""Well, how is your mother these days?"
"My mother passed away several years ago." More tears.
I reached across my vintage shirts to hug her. Wow, again... just wow.