My 14-month old grandson, Blake, came to our family Christmas gathering wearing a tiny sweatshirt with a picture of a young boy playing baseball and the words, “I’m The Big Brother,” emblazoned across the front.

In all the excitement of the day, I didn’t pay much attention to the shirt at first. I knew there was an charitable organization in Nashville called the Big Brothers, and I figured Blake’s mom and dad had made a Christmastime contribution to the charity and perhaps gotten the shirt in return.