The story of Calisson began on a warm day of spring cleaning at my childhood home in the North of France two decades ago. I had hardly begun my endeavor in the attic when a single ray of sunlight drew my attention to a small box peeking out from behind a wicker trunk.I slowly lifted the top off the box and delicately moved aside the tissue paper to reveal a pair of baby shoes. The two most beautiful little shoes, sleepily nestled together in the paper. Beneath the shoes laid a yellowed photograph of a small boy in a buttoned coat with a caption penned across the back in perfect script: “1942… Pierre, 2 years old”. These were my dad’s baby shoes.
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