I feel that Peter was one of the few people who was not phony in this world full of phonies. He was terrifically intelligent and the nicest person. My brother Peter’s baseball mitt is a thing that I keep very close to my heart. It’s a symbol of our companionship. Although Peter is gone, the memory of his good and loving soul is captured in this worn out mitt. Peter’s glove is a left-handed fielder’s mitt. The glove isn’t in very good shape. The smooth and firm leather of the mitt is now quite ragged. The stitching of the mitt is loose and is in desperate need for repair. Dirt and dust from numerous baseball fields have taken its toll and damaged the sturdy webbing of the mitt. What used to be a well-inscribed white logo of a company has disappeared, with the exception of the lonely remains of a letter “d”, now standing all alone. The most outstanding part of the mitt are the numerous poems written on it. My brother copied the poems, so he had something to read, when no one was up at bat. The bright green ink, what used to be like the first green leaves on a warm spring day, is now faded, but still readable. One poem that stands out is written on the backside of the glove, where time hasn’t caused a lot of damage. The leather, on which the poem is written on, is in excellent condition, when comparing it with the rest of the glove. Both the author and the title of the poem remain unknown to me and I’d like if it stayed like that. Sometimes I even dream, that Peter wrote it himself, just for me to read.