I was made in America. My “Jingle These” Christmas boxers were MADE IN BANGLADESH.

I had an all-American childhood in rural Ohio. My all-American blue jeans were MADE IN CAMBODIA.

I wore flip-flops every day for a year when I worked as a SCUBA diving instructor in Key West. They were MADE IN CHINA.

One day while staring at a pile of clothes on the floor, I noticed the tag of my favorite T-shirt: MADE IN HONDURAS.

I read the tag. My mind wandered.

A quest was born. A book was written.