The kids would pile into the car as my mom checked her purse for what she needed. As we drove the ten miles to town from the farm she would go over the rules with us again. With the older kids it was where to drop off and where to pick up. With the younger kids it was how much freedom we were allowed while she did her shopping. Inevitably there was one or two of us who were destined for our sadistic dentist (no pain killers or gas, I still have his face seared into my memory) while the others went to the "Dime Store" or the grocery store. The few coins we had were more than enough for us kids to spend: five cents for a pack of gum, ten cents for most candy bars and soda, and, of course, a quarter for a pack of baseball cards which included a large stick of pink, powdery, stiff gum.
We don't have Dime Stores anymore; they have been replaced by Wal-Mart. So I went to Wal-mart to find some cards and I had no idea where to look. I asked two people before I found them. One sent me to sporting goods, one to books, and then finally to games. Baseball Cards had been relegated to a hidden shelf next to play, plastic bats, buckets and lawnmowers. I could see why, they were placed with game cards for Dungeons and Dragons and the like. Baseball cards only received their due at Specialty Hobby Shops now where they are wrapped in vacuum-sealed containers with every wrinkle and mar documented. You don't see kids with mouths full of gum yelling out their favorite player. You see middle-aged men like me kicking ourselves for not keeping the quarter pack that now would fetch hundreds of dollars.
As I sit back and ponder the way of the world I wonder what else I never appreciated when I had them close. Then I smile, open my cell phone and call one of my brothers.