A few summers ago, I stumbled upon the very contents of the first pack of baseball cards I ever opened. My memory isnāt completely vivid, as it was over forty years ago, but my mom came home from the grocery store as she did so often, but this time she had something for me. I wasnāt a baseball fan, was only vaguely aware of the game in all likelihood; my first sporting memory was sitting in the basement of our split-level as my family went bananas as the USA hockey team beat the Soviets. Sometime after the Miracle on Ice, my mom brought me home that wax pack which immediately enthralled me. I was a beginning reader, so I read the names as best I could, studied the pictures, and tried to make sense of the numbers on the back. I was hooked, and I always hoped sheād bring home more whenever she went shopping!
As I continued buying cards, my mom always showed interest. One time she opened a pack of ā84 Fleer with me, reading the names, and remarking to me how handsome she thought Scott Sanderson was. I donāt think she was ever thrilled at the quantity of cards my closet was jammed with, but she knew they made me happy, so she never said a word about them.
When I got back in the hobby as an adult, I had a few cards shipped to my parentsā house for safekeeping. One of them was my Hank Aaron rookie, and she asked me how much I paid for it. When I told her, she had a look of utter shock and crossed herself. I could tell she thought Iād truly lost my mind. Iām hoping that she has access to the PSA prices realized reports up in heaven, so she knows that her son has done okay with the card thing she got me started on all those years ago.
This was adapted from my Instagram page, inspired by @themerriment.