Sunday, February 8, 2015


This is not a post about George Orwell's best-selling novel. Instead, it's about the year that I turned 10-years-old. The year I rocked out to Van Halen's 6th studio album.

The year that I obtained my first baseball cards.

I remember asking my mom if I could start collecting comic books. I don't know why I wanted to. I don't remember if I had any friends who collected them, and I certainly don't remember ever reading one. Anyway, she told me "no." To this day, I'm not sure why my request was denied.

I don't remember if I asked if I could buy baseball cards. Pretty sure I did that on my own. It was shortly after my rejection, maybe even the same day.

I lived within walking distance of a 7-11 convenience store. This story is so old that it took place back when the store's name was literal.

Mixed among the rows of delicious chocolate candy bars and Hubba Bubba Bubble Gum, sat a box of 1984 Topps Baseball Cards.

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At 30¢ per pack I knew my allowance would get me a whole bunch, so I grabbed 3 out of that box and promptly handed the cashier my last dollar. I went home and opened them, probably enjoying the gum more than the unfamiliar names I was skimming past. I have no recollection of who were in those packs, but I do remember that half dollar coin in my piggy bank that I was itching to use to buy more cards. I returned to the store that same day to buy more cards.

For years, that 7-11 was my baseball card store.

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