Read a story last week about an Australian man who auctioned his life on eBay and was disappointed because he only got $384,000 for it. What do you expect when you cheapen your life by putting a monetary value on it?

But Ian Usher, actually a British immigrant to Australia, auctioned his house, car, job, friends, everything. An Associated Press report said that Usher decided to auction off his life after a painful divorce. He thought getting rid of all his married memories would give him a fresh start.

Usher declined to reveal the name of the person who bought his life. But I suspect it was someone who somebody told to “get a life.”

Usher said he’d hoped to get at least $480,000 for his existence. That was a bargain, he figured, especially since it came with a furnished house, car, motorcycle, Jet Ski, skydiving gear and introductions to all his friends.

“I guess I’m a little disappointed at the final price. I hoped it to be a little higher than that,” Usher said in the article. “But I’m committed to selling and moving on and making a fresh start.”

What struck me the most about Usher’s sale was the fact that he put a value on his life by the things he owned. His life to him wasn’t much more than a car, a house, motorcycle, Jet Skis and skydiving gear. If I were one of Usher’s friends, I’d be upset that he valued my friendship by actually putting a value on it. That gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, “buying someone’s friendship.”

Somehow all this reminded me of when I sold the lot where my childhood home used to sit. I sold it for less than what it was worth to me. That’s because my memories there are priceless.

Truth is, I got tired of cutting the grass. Every week in the summer, after cutting my own yard, I’d have to pack up the lawn mower and weed trimmer and head over to the lot on South 16th Street. Sometimes it felt good going back. I got to talk to a few of my old neighbors who still lived in the neighborhood. And when I took Gatorade breaks, it felt good to sit and reminisce about all the things that took place there.

I was a year old when we moved into the house. My earliest memories are of a coal-burning stove in the dining room and a pet chicken named “Petey” we kept in a cardboard box in the kitchen.

“Petey” was a pet only as long as we had enough of something else to eat. Same as with the other chickens and ducks I got for Easter gifts. I learned quickly what the farm kids already knew: don’t make pets out of animals that can be eaten. The kitchen stove will get them every time.

My grandmother paid for that house with earnings she made as a short order cook at Katz Drug store.

The day she got it paid off, she celebrated with a banana split from the Jolly Roger ice cream truck.

Family grew up in that house. We celebrated Christmas, Fourth of July and Thanksgiving there. It was where I had to be before dark every evening.

We had the house torn down a few years ago. The lot I tried to hold on to for nostalgic reasons.

I ended up selling it to a man who wanted to use it to plant a huge garden.

What once grew a family now grows corn, tomatoes, lettuce and melons.

Again I sold the lot, not the memories. Those I can never sell.

Neither can my man Usher. If I think about it, Usher is not too different for many of us who base our lives on what we own. We can only hope to realize it’s more than that.

Alonzo Weston can be reached

at alonzow@npgco.com.