Month: February 2020

Where It All Began

My birthday was this past week and I had a moment as I walked out of the front door on the way to work that I didn’t expect. Because I spend so much time on eBay and trading on Twitter, I have come to expect a fair share of mail days. Most days it’s a Braves lot or an occasional Junk Wax Auto that I add to my “Dated Rookies” (copyright pending) collection.

But on this day, I had a momentary memory of receiving birthday cards from my grandmother “GaGa”, who passed away just a few years ago. I could expect a card on February 13th, like clockwork. It was always a “grandmother” type of card with flowers and heartfelt wishes for a great day; no jokes or cracks on my age. It hit me on this day that I wouldn’t be getting one; and I had a moment.

I say all of this to set up this next piece with a disclaimer. A lot of times, I write for myself. Actually, when it comes to my blog, I’d say it’s about 95% of the time. I am floored that so many others like to take this journey with me. But this blog serves a greater purpose; to document some of the best moments of my life. I love to incorporate cards because that is my passion, but I always tie some event from my life to the cards. It’s what works for me.

My GaGa spent the last several years of her life suffering from Dementia/Alzheimer’s. While it was heartbreaking to witness, I know that it was brutal for my mom and her two sisters. Anyone who has ever experienced it with a loved one knows what I mean.

So that is why documenting my memories is so important to me. I remember various points in my life vividly but others fade in and out depending on where I’m at, what I’m doing, etc. Selfishly, I write my blog to put myself back into those memories. In reality, I know that is not going to change anything for me if I were to ever suffer from the illness my GaGa did; but I’ll always have something to come back to and read. I’ll be able to go back and experience them over and over again. At least that is what I’m telling myself. The blog has a purpose.

So where am I going with all of this? I’m going back to 5th Grade; 1987. This is where the hobby began for me. It began with one card that made a lasting memory. But that is for later in the post. First, I want to lay out 5th Grade for Dub. Again, partially for you, the reader, but mainly to document the journey for me.

I recently went back to my old Middle School, which is no longer open as a school. The building serves as the Board of Education offices and most of the school appears to be empty. The only part of the school that felt like it was separated from the main campus was the 5th Grade Wing. It was a long outdoor hall that stretched away from the main building. And my class was the last class on the wing.

When I think of 5th Grade, the first thing I think of is not my first baseball card, unfortunately. I immediately think of the fluoride mouth rinse we had to do once a week. Each student received a small plastic cup and the teacher would come around and pump a couple squirts of this strange pink liquid for us to swish around in our mouths and then spit out. I don’t really know what the purpose of this was, other than to make students gag and want to puke. Some conspiracy theorists believe it was some sort of government testing. Whatever t was, it was awful.

There were some good parts to 5th Grade that offset the awful fluoride memory though. I remember the book fair and taking my “Troll” Book Flyer home with multiple books circled. It would later be replaced by “Scholastic”; but it was “Troll” when I was in middle school. I would usually wind up having to narrow my list way down but I always came away with something nice.

I also remember note passing becoming the main form of communication during class. Some people had really fancy ways of folding notes but paper footballs were the extent of my paper folding skills. All my notes got the standard folding treatment. Kids text in class now but “back in my day”, if you wanted to get communication to your friend across the classroom, you had to pass a note and risk the teacher catching you and reading it out loud in front of the class. Very few things were more embarrassing than that punishment.

I remember 5th Grade being the last year of actual recess. Every year after that allowed for an afternoon break but it was spent standing around gossiping and scheming up ways to ask a girl to go steady. In 5th Grade; we raced, played marbles, threw footballs, played tag, climbed playground equipment, and traded toys. And this is where the card comes in.

Up until that point, I had a stray card or two laying around from a box of cereal or a package of Purina that landed at the house. But I wasn’t a collector and didn’t seek out cards when we went to the store. I was still building my Transformer and WWF (now WWE) Action Figure collections at the time. But one of those WWF Action Figures would parlay into a now 33 year sports card hobby.

One of my favorite wrestlers in WWF during the 80’s was Junkyard Dog. I liked him on the cartoons and I liked his gimmick in the ring. I had a a few action figures but I’ll always remember that JYD. It was the centerpiece in a trade for my first baseball card. I don’t remember who I traded with but it was definitely one of my inner circle friends. I don’t know what made me pull the trigger other than the card being of a player I really liked.

This is the card that the JYD landed me. A 1979 Topps Ozzie Smith RC in less than mint condition. Condition didn’t really matter because JYD had taken his share of tumbles from the top rope by that time as well. The only thing that mattered to me was that the card seemed “really old” and was of one of my favorite players. As for “really old”, it is 41 years old now but was only 8 years old in 1987. It would be the equivalent of trading for a card from 2012 today. The mind of a 5th Grader works in strange ways.

But this very card led to a 1987 Topps Jose Canseco, 1989 Donruss Ken Griffey Jr., 1990 Leaf Frank Thomas; and now, 33 years later, a guy named Zion Williamson, who wasn’t even born yet. No matter what I ever pull, this card will be the most special card in my collection. It is where my journey through the hobby began and I couldn’t have asked for a better beginning than a Wizard RC.

We all have stories to tell; this one happens to begin in a little brick classroom in 1987. We all have memories, good and bad. They help shape who we are when we grow up; whether you cling to the memories and try to forever hold on to them or whether you take the memories and change the course of where you are heading. I don’t know if I’ll remember all of this when I’m 70, but I remember it now so I’m going to keep putting the memories in writing so I’ll have a way to remind myself of the tiny moments that made my life full. So as you read my posts, you may wonder from time to time why I’m including pieces of information that aren’t central to the story and seem out of place. But everything I write is calculated in some way. And sometimes it’s just for me.

Thank you for reading this blog and interacting with me on social media. We all share similar memories and they help create a bond among strangers that we may never meet face to face. But it reminds us that we have so much in common with our fellow collectors.

“We all live with the objective of being happy. Our lives are all different and yet the same.” Anne Frank

J-Dub

Forty-Three

There were times in my life that I thought I’d be lucky to make it to 40 years old. It’s not that I live a rough life or have a dangerous job. But I’ve spent way too many moments wondering how I would make it another year, or week, or day. This isn’t a “whoa is me” post but it is a little glimpse into the life of a man who sometimes feels broken.

I’m pretty hard on myself; this is a fact I live with every day. I didn’t used to be this way. There was a time when I was in my late teens and early 20’s where I thought I had the world by the tail. I was living the dream and nobody could tell me any different. The only thing that mattered was the next 5 minutes. Anything beyond that could be dealt with when the time arrived.

Somewhere around 27-28, things started to change. I was thinking about turning 30 and wondering if I was where I was supposed to be in life. I was married to my high school sweetheart, had a good job, owned my own home, and was following the relatively standard path of growing up. But the growing up part was starting to bother me.

While I was married to my high school sweetheart, that meant that I had someone I had to protect and provide for. I didn’t only have myself to worry about anymore. That good job I had meant that I had to be extremely responsible, a good co-worker, and a trusted advisor. And those qualities would determine whether or not I would keep making the money to provide for the woman at the beginning of this paragraph.

Up until this point, I saw my life playing out much like Dante or Randall in the movie “Clerks”. And I don’t even mean that in a bad way. I thought that would be pretty cool! Just hanging out at a job, clocking in and clocking out, but having fun at every turn. I still dream of owning the worlds last remaining video store; and actually making it successful. I was stuck in that early 20’s mindset, even though I was knocking on my 30’s.

At the age of 30, I had my first child, and a husband morphed into a father. Nothing could’ve prepared me for the feelings that came along with that. A tremendous blessing brought with it a crippling sense of inadequacy. I was an overgrown teenager, flying by the seat of my pants, still staying up late playing video games. Yet, I was now responsible for raising and protecting a tiny human being that I helped create. Whoa….

That was a “straighten up and fly right” moment for me. I was the definition of a “helicopter dad” and it was exhausting. I thought about ALL the things I had done as a kid and remembered every warning I had ever heard. “Don’t put that in your mouth”, “Don’t climb on that”, “Don’t go near those stairs”, “Don’t touch that bug”, “Don’t go out of my sight”, “Is she buckled up”, “Does she have a fever”, “What is that rash”, “WHERE IS SHE?” Like I said, exhausting.

You see, I was no longer your average guy who had a kid. I had slowly been developing an anxiety disorder before she was born. But when she was born, it really blossomed. For the first time in my life, not only was I unsure; I was scared of my own shadow. I just knew that there was no way I could be a successful husband, father, employee, and productive member of society all at the same time. I had lost the confidence I carried around 10 years earlier when I thought I was bulletproof.

I now have 2 children and it’s true that the second child is a little easier because of the experience you gained from the first. But you never lose that pressure of being responsible for a mini version of yourself. I have 3 people in my house that I’m ultimately responsible for. Their safety, the roof over their head, the food on their plate; it’s a direct result of whether I succeed or fail at being who I need to be. I know, it’s dramatic; but it’s something I carry daily.

The contradiction to all of this pressure and self doubt is that I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. My wife is still my high school sweetheart. My oldest daughter is still the first baby I held in my arms that was an extension of me. I’ll never forget the connection I felt. And my youngest daughter is the biggest “Daddy’s Girl” in the world and thinks that I am the King of the World! I couldn’t ask for a more perfect life.

But I can’t slow down enough to enjoy it the way I should. There was a quote on “The Office” finale by Andy Bernard, “I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.” That can be attributed to many aspects of life but I know that I’ll one day wake up and realize that I spent the “good old days” of my kids growing up being an anxious, obsessive, basket case. They are growing up. I am stricken with fear.

I keep thinking that I’ll eventually snap out of it. And some days seem like daydreams of happiness. Yet, some days I feel like I’m on the verge of breaking down because I can’t handle the pressure. But no matter what, I can’t let my guard down. I can’t cave to the pressure. I can’t fight it either; but I can’t let it get the best of me.

In the end, I know that I just need to be rescued from myself. The fears are somewhat natural but I take them and spin them into reality when I don’t have to. It’s like worrying about a storm, but instead of just worrying, you start making plans for what to do after the tornado hits; like it’s a foregone conclusion. Instead of letting life play out, I just prepare for worst case scenarios.

In reality, I know that if I don’t wake up tomorrow, I have done an admirable job raising my kids. They have everything they need and most everything they want. They know that their dad loves them. They know that I would do anything for them. I’ve expressed my feelings with them. They know where I stand. They know that no matter what storms come, I’m there for them to take cover.

I just hope that is enough; whether I make it to 43 next week or live well into my 90’s. I hope that all of this worrying and staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night was for a greater good. I have to believe that I’m doing what’s right. It’s not easy, but if it makes even 1% difference in life, it’s worth it.

J-Dub