Baseball Cards

In 1969 my family moved away from the neighborhood in which I had spent most of my young life. The move was accomplished rather quickly leaving us less than a day to say good-by to all of our friends.

My best friend was a few years older than me. Our age differences really did not matter because we had so much in common. Especially our undying devotion to baseball and the Los Angeles Dodgers. Not a day went by that didn't include baseball somewhere on our agenda.

When I visited his house for the last time he presented me with a cardboard box full of baseball cards. We both had been collecting baseball cards for several years but my collection was a mere shadow of his. At first I refused to believe him but soon enough he had me convinced that he sincerely wanted me to have them.

In today's market the cards he had given me were worth several thousand dollars. We had no idea that these pieces of cardboard, smelling like bubble gum would someday be valuable. In 1969 a baseball card was something you either swapped with your friends or stuck between the spokes on your bicycle.

The collection I inherited from him represented some of the best to play the game in the 50's and the 60's. Over the next few years I continued to add to the collection. As each new baseball season began I would take my allowance money and buy as many packages of cards as I could afford.

By 1974 my collection contained well over three thousand cards but my enthusiasm for my chosen hobby had begun to wane. I still followed the Dodger's but the cards were boxed up and put away in the garage.

Several months passed without me giving my collection a second thought. One afternoon my brother and I had an argument, just a sibling shouting match nothing more. To this day I do not remember what we were arguing about. Whatever it was really ticked him off and he promised that he would pay me back. I never gave it a second thought but he must have given it a third and fourth thought because he did get his revenge.

We had a small hill in our back yard covered in shrubs and trees. A few weeks after our argument I was hiking about the hill when I stumbled upon a familiar looking box, soaking wet and covered in mildew. I removed the lid and there was my baseball card collection. The cards were damaged beyond repair.

When confronted my brother had completely forgotten that he had hidden the cards. He had assumed that I would notice the next day that they were missing. He had no idea that they had become part of my past.