The Saga Continues...

If you've returned for further stories, I applaud you. I thank you for taking the time to read the first post of this new blog. So now you know where my love of collecting baseball cards originated, and hopefully, as I continue to tell my tales, you'll understand why it's still such a deep passion of mine, and why I hope to pass along this obsession to my son...

As I previously explained, I was not the "buy the sealed set" kid growing up. I pieced together all of my yearly collections pack by pack. As I've gotten older, and realized the "value" of factory-sealed

sets, I've done what I said I'd never do--I've purchased factory-sealed sets. Before you say "What the hell are you doing?!", let me explain. I'm still all about piecing sets together by purchasing packs and individual cards. Remember when I said my Dad, who NEVER purchased complete factory sets for me growing up? He did something even better, and to this day, that action still shocks and amazes me. Before we get much further, I'll let you know that my father passed away about seven and a half years ago at the age of 57 due to lung cancer. With that said, what he did for me makes the gesture even that much more important to me...

During my Dad's final year prior to his passing, I went and visited him at his home in Ariel, WA. My stepmother had taken a short vacation with her sister, and I took the week and went to help him out. My wife was a couple of months pregnant with our son, and we lived in Las Vegas. During my visit, I would go to the pharmacy to pick up Dad's prescriptions, I would take him to his treatment appointments and wait for him, fix his meals, etc. That time as I look back on it, is something I'll always cherish, because we had that time...just he and I, before he was too weak and frail towards the end of his life to do much else.

One of the hardest parts of the visit, was sitting at his kitchen table with him, as he opened this big binder, and page by page, we reviewed his final wishes, both for his medical treatment, and for when he passed. For the first few years after he died, the only image I had of him was how he looked and was in his final days and hours. Now that time has passed, I can remember the good times, and even some of the sad times, but at least he was able to be mobile, walk, talk and eat...

As my April, 2009 visit with my father was coming to an end, and I was preparing to fly back to Las Vegas, my Dad said, "Hey, sit down at the kitchen table, I've got something for you." He went upstairs and came back down with what looked like a cardboard baseball card box. He came down the stairs, and said "Son, I want you to know how much I love you." He sat the box down on the table in front of me, and said "Open it."

As I slowly pulled the flaps from each side of the box, Dad returned upstairs, and came back down with a tiny cardboard box and set it down on the table as well. He explained that when he was growing up, my grandparents didn't have much money, and that he worked jobs to buy everything from school shoes to clothes, to yes, even baseball cards. When he left home, he left his baseball cards behind, and most of them were disposed of. Dad explained that after both of my grandparents had passed (Grandma in 1998, Grandpa in 2000), he and my Uncle went into their attic and cleaned out a bunch of junk. Dad had found one small box of cards left behind from his childhood.

What Dad gave me in that small second box, was possibly a few hundred cards from the late 1950s and early 1960s, and a bunch from the late 60s. I looked quietly through each, and we talked about players from his era. Dad grew up a Yankees fan, and had switched his allegiance to the Padres after George Steinbrenner had purchased the team, and from his time being stationed at Balboa Naval Hospital in San Diego. Dad remained a Padres fan until he died, with Tony Gwynn, Dave Winfield, Steve Garvey, and Puff Nettles being his favorite players. As a Yankees fan, he rooted for Mantle and Ford, and during the first half decade of my life, Dad was quietly a Thurman Munson fan...now, back to the boxes Dad brought to me...

Dad was a very private person throughout his life. Some things I'll never know about his life, some things I probably don't need to know. However, one of his private tasks that he undertook was in that first cardboard box he presented to me on that rainy day in April, 2009. After going through the second box he gave me, he had a smile on his face that could've lit the entire house. I finished opening the first box, and he said "They probably aren't worth a whole lot, but they weren't from a factory set either."He chuckled. As I looked inside, examining card by individual card, it dawned on me, that this man, who had been my hero my entire life, this man, who taught me how to throw and hit a baseball, this man, who along with my mother, encouraged my involvement in all of my sporting endeavors throughout my childhood, and supported me every step of the way, had hand collated the ENTIRE 1976 SET OF TOPPS BASEBALL CARDS!!! I began to cry. He began to cry. Dad said if he didn't give them to me at this point, he may never get another chance. A stark reminder that as my little boy was growing and developing within the womb, Dad's time was quickly coming to an end...

After we collected ourselves from the emotion of the moment, Dad said he knew before I was born that I was going to be HIS boy. He said he remembered how much joy collecting cards brought to him, and how it helped to build his love of the game, and he wanted to ensure that I had that same love. I asked, "What if I had been a girl?" He laughed and said "Son, there's always grandchildren." Dad went on to explain how he knew that as an adult, money had been tough for me, and that I'd make some stupid mistakes, and if I desperately needed the money, to feel free to go ahead and sell the set, and get what I could get for it. I began to cry again. Not because he was right, but because I looked into his sunken eyes, the dark circles and gaunt frame of the strongest man I ever knew, and knew in my heart he didn't have long for this world, and how there was no getting lost time back.

I've never sold a baseball card in my entire life. Not one. I just can't pull myself to do it. I probably have between 60-70 thousand cards total in my collection. I have a few sets that I have completed by hand. The most valuable cards I may have as a single, is either a Carl Yastrzemski 1960 Topps, or a 1969 Reggie Jackson Topps. Both from my Dad's box of cards, neither in mint condition, but they are sentimental favorites of mine. None of the cards in the second box were mint...nowhere close, but they came from Dad, and someday, I hope to pass them along to MY son...they remain in his small box.

Dad knew I was never going to sell the '76 set. EVER. The set isn't worth much, a few hundred dollars perhaps. That's not the point. This set is worth more to me than all of my other cards combined, because MY DAD pieced it together during the year I was preparing to arrive. To this day, I've never discussed this surprising event with many, other than a handful of friends and family. I'm not even sure if my Mom was aware of what he did. Maybe she was, and she kept his secret, to be shared with me when HE was ready...Dad passed away in January of 2010--a mere three months after his only grandson arrived, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish I could pick up the phone and chat with him. I will always believe Dad fought through his illness, and hung on longer than he should have, just to meet his little man. I wish he could see how awesome his grandchildren are...

Now that you've dried your eyes, I hope you can understand why I'm so deeply invested in this hobby. Remember when I said I've purchased factory sealed sets? The year each of my children were born, I purchased a set for each of them. The Topps 1999 set for my oldest daughter Alexa. She will be a freshman in college this fall. A Topps 2009 set for my son, who doesn't have a clue or knows the difference between factory sealed and a foil pack. Then there's my baby girl, Kamryn. I even picked up a Topps 2011 set for her. Someday, I plan to give each of my children THEIR complete set. You might be thinking that I cut some corners by buying the whole set rather than hand collating each set like my father did. I'm already a step ahead of you on that one...I am in the process of assembling all three sets for each of my children. Hopefully I have a heads up when my time comes...hopefully one day I can sit with my children and give them my gift...

Today would've been my Dad's 65th birthday. Sometimes it seems like it was just yesterday he was visiting my wife and I in Las Vegas, taking us to dinner, telling dirty jokes, and shaking his head in disbelief that his son, the one he raised in a small Oregon town of 10,000 people, had become comfortable living in "Sin City." Other days, it seems like a lifetime ago. I have his gift of love for the game, and a handful of his personal possessions...and several voicemails that I saved during the last year of his life. I can listen to his voice anytime I choose. My son and daughter often ask about "Papa Don", and I do my best to make sure that even though they will never know him, that they know his memory and spirit aren't too far away. It is my job now to ensure that my children--especially my only son, build their love for the game, a love and respect for the hobby, and hopefully as the years go by, he can look back on his childhood and know how much this "baseball" time together means to me, and smile, just as I do today...Happy Birthday Dad!

Where It All Started...

There are plenty of things going on in my life right now that don't necessitate the creation of yet another blog, one that is no more unique or special than the hundreds of thousands of other blogs in the world. I've been hired help for blogs, served as a freelance writer, staff writer, and yes, even as an editor. My passion has been baseball as far back as I could remember. Whether it's minor league ball, the big leagues, or even a local little league game.

Things that go along with that obsession go far beyond writing, reading, etc. I've coached Little League, Babe Ruth, Junior Leagues, high school and legion ball. As I'm writing this, it's 2:56 a.m. on a Monday morning--exactly two weeks before I return to my normal job as a social studies and weight training teacher at a small reservation school in central Wyoming. The common thread since I first fell in love with the National Pastime more than thirty years ago? Baseball cards. What?! Yes, the little pieces of cardboard that have an image of our game's players on the front, and statistics on the back. What's different now than when I witnessed my first big league game in the Kingdome back in 1981? My seven-year old son, that's what.

As I write this initial entry--my tale to my little boy, I'm on the second movie of an in-house double feature that started with Moneyball  and is concluding with my all-time favorite: Bull Durham. My family is baseball obsessed to say the least. My son and I root for the New York Yankees, while my wife of 11 1/2 years along with my six-year old daughter, are one-hundred percent invested in Red Sox Nation. My oldest daughter? The one who will begin college this fall at Montclair State in New Jersey? She began as a Yankees fan, but quickly changed her allegiance to the New York Mets. That's a story for another day...

As a child growing up in north-central Oregon, the closest thing we had to big league baseball were the Mariners up in Seattle, and the Portland Beavers--the Triple-A affiliate of the Philadelphia Phillies and later, the Minnesota Twins. My first pack of baseball cards? A wax pack from the 1986 Topps collection. I remember that first pack like it was yesterday. Fifteen cards, a stick of bubble gum, an entry form to attend the 1987 spring training for the team of my choice...all for a whopping forty cents. Thirty-one years later, the '86 set is looked upon as one of the ugliest, unpopular sets of the decade produced by Topps. It doesn't matter, as I put the entire set together by hand. Pack by painstaking pack. Well worth the reward, as it hooked me for life, and fueled my increasing love for the game from that point, through today.

I'm creating this blog as an online diary. An official entry as I take this newfound journey with my son. Now that baseball here in our little town is almost complete, I decided to quit using chewing tobacco after 27 years of constant use (another side affect of my baseball life). I need another hobby, something productive to occupy my time. After four years of being involved in Little League, my son has officially caught the bug of being obsessed with baseball. He's always dogging me to go hit (we live directly across the street from our local baseball complex), have a catch, to take him on in MLB The Show, watching or listening to games, whatever. If it's baseball, he wants to share in it with me.

When I began collecting, never in my wildest dreams did I ever consider purchasing an entire set of baseball cards. To me, that was cheating. I remember during the winters of my childhood, laying in front of the fireplace, looking through the Sears, JC Penney, and Jafco Christmas catalogs, at the full, complete sets for that specific year being offered. By 1987, I had expanded my desire to conquer the world of baseball cards, learning of Fleer, Donruss, and later, Sportflics sets. My Mom (God bless that woman) was all about feeding my addiction. Any time she would go to the local grocery stores (Albertson, Safeway, etc.), rest assured that by the time she was done putting the week's food away, a pack or two of cards was sitting on the counter for me. I also earned $2 per week in allowance for picking up dog poop, taking out the garbage, mowing the lawn, and doing some occasional housework like vacuuming or loading up the dishwasher for dear old Mom.

I would take my hard-earned money, and meet up with my buddies each morning before school. We'd walk up to DeHart's corner market, buy a Hostess fruit pie, a nickel box of Lemonheads, Boston Baked Beans, and a couple of packs of cards. When times were good, multiple brands of cards were available--the aforementioned Topps, Fleer, and Donruss. Fleer and Donruss cards would sell for only .35 per pack, so if funds were low, we'd snag an extra pack of those until allowance day came, and we could buy some packs of Topps again. We'd go to school, eat our pies, save our candy for lunch, and go through our new treasures, trading cards to help us each fill our sets.

As my buddies and I continued to grow up, cards were never far from our minds, but other things often took our card money (girls, beer, chew), but we'd still buy packs when we were thinking about it. Our little town even produced a card shop, where the owner, Larry Krutsinger, who was a local volunteer umpire, would show mercy on us, and give us a really good deal on cards of our favorite players (Mine was Don Mattingly, my friend Josh, Mark Grace, my other buddy Sean, Ozzie Smith). Sean and I would spend summer days playing ball with our other neighborhood friends, but our favorite stop was a junk store called Jolly's. The guy who ran that shop, was a crass, grumpy guy who looked like he hadn't bathed in a few weeks. The place was dark and dingy, but we knew he had boxes upon boxes of old baseball cards. Sean and I would collect all of the loose change we could find, and head up to Kelly Avenue to Jolly's. Mr Jolly as we called him, was so preoccupied with trying to sell his other junk, he'd allow Sean and I to go through those boxes for hours, looking for gems at discount rates. He kept an out of date copy of Beckett Baseball behind the counter, and we'd come to the side counter with all of the cards we could afford for that day, and he'd hand us the Beckett, a piece of paper, and a calculator.

Between the card shop and Larry, and the junk shop and Jolly's, Sean and I built our collection that most of our other buddies quickly became jealous of. Sean and I would spend hours upon hours, laying out our catch, talking baseball, trading cards, and preserving them for when we were all grown up. Sean moved away a year after we entered junior high school, but I found another friend who was into cards, my friend and Cubs fan, Josh. This is where my eyes were opened wide to parental involvement in the "hobby"of baseball card collecting.

You see, Josh lived on the opposite side of town. No quick walk or bike ride. I actually needed rides to Josh's house, but I got there and he to my house on the east side of town. I was floored the first time I entered Josh's house. It is a ranch style, with a living room through the garage entrance, a dining room and kitchen, then another living room and hallway to the bedrooms. Josh had a younger brother, Andrew, who was two years younger than we were in school. Josh and I would play Bases Loaded, RBI Baseball and the like on the Nintendo for hours. However, in that second living room, were boxes and boxes and more boxes of complete sets of baseball cards. You name the year and set in the 1980s and earlier, and odds were good it was stacked in that living room, or Josh and Andrew's bedrooms. His family would take trips to Portland, stop at multiple card shops, and come home with many more sets of baseball cards.

I remember asking Josh's dad why he bought complete sets rather than hand collecting. He responded by saying if taken care of properly, full sets could be worth big money in twenty or thirty years when we boys were grown up. I'd go home and ask my Dad if he'd buy me a complete set, and he'd just laugh and say "Buy you complete sets of toys?" "You're on your own son." I felt like I was behind the power curve and at a disadvantage to Josh because his Dad would get the complete sets, and I'd be stuck piecing my yearly collection together pack by pack. I still felt like it was cheating, and not really an enjoyable way to collect cards. My own father had a couple of treats for me later in my life...

I've been blessed enough to have suitable storage for my cards all of these years later. I've lived in many different states, all over the country, but I have always taken the time to ensure my childhood gems were taken care of.

I have many more stories to tell, and to explain where I am at in the hobby and my new journey with my son. My children are my absolute world. My family and baseball. It's a pretty simple life for a school teacher, and I hope you'll enjoy taking this journey with me each week as I document what I hope is something you might enjoy reading. Perhaps my entries will take you back to a special time and place in your life. Perhaps it was you and your friends, or you and your father that once enjoyed collecting. Maybe, just maybe, you'll get the bug once again and you can carry the tradition on with your own children...thanks for reading, and God Bless!