Baseball cards once fluttered away like confetti through the spokes of bicycles, serving more as auditory enhancers than collectible keepsakes for many a carefree tot. Such was the nostalgia-steeped reminiscence of Bob Kenning, whose childhood treasures often wound up transforming his bicycle into a roaring makeshift motorcycle. “A lot of my cards wound up in my bike spokes to make my bike sound better,” Kenning wistfully remembered, conjuring images of simpler, unhurried times.
Fast forward to today, and the scene shifts significantly for Bob Kenning’s 12-year-old grandson, Keegan. For this young enthusiast, amassing baseball cards is no mere pastime; it’s a calling, a passionate pursuit akin to Tim’s relationship with his tools. “I would say I probably have close to 10,000 cards,” Keegan proudly declared, almost making one wonder if he needs an archivist as much as any child needs a tutor.
The sun rose one recent President’s Day with a halo of promise that this holiday from school would transform into something extraordinary. Restlessness primed with the impatience of youth, Keegan enlisted his grandfather for an impromptu adventure to their local sanctuary, Hobby Den—a haven of hope and hobbyist delight. “It was Presidents’ Day. We had nothing better to do, so Keegan called me up and said, ‘Hey Pawpaw, why don’t we go to Hobby Den?'” Bob eagerly recounted, forever cherishing that spontaneous phone call.
For Keegan, moments in card shops are about the electric buzz of potential. Each pack holds the thrill of potential treasure, the type of excitement that lottery designers dream of simulating. “My favorite part is probably the thrill of pulling cards, seeing what’s inside, and hoping for something great,” Keegan shared, his eyes likely radiating dreams with the glow only realized when fantasy meets reality.
And so, there in Hobby Den, amongst shelves teeming with colorful promise, Keegan’s nimble fingers coaxed from an unsuspecting pack something genuinely spectacular—a one-of-a-kind Babe Ruth card, no less. Not just any encased relic of baseball’s storied past, but a card adorned with the autograph of the iconic Bambino himself. Sudden stardust swirled in small-town air, and even David Nguyen, seasoned owner of Hobby Den, stumbled across his own moment of disbelief, understanding deeply the treasure they had found.
Bob, however, saw another kind of richness—one ladled in memories and moments of kinship. “When we can share this hobby together and have a grandfather-grandson bonding time, I mean, that’s priceless right there,” he expressed, valuing the moments shared with his grandson over and above the card’s likely digital auction fate.
Young Keegan, standing proudly, cradling his newfound treasure—that rare Babe Ruth card with historical heft and spectral significance—was not thinking of dollars and cents. This card, to him, whispers tales of the past but will shout stories of his present and future. In its mere existence, it validates every tense ribcage breath halfway through pulling back foil, every tingle of excitement creeping up his spine. “Sometimes, collecting is about more than just the price tag,” Keegan wisely concluded, the glow of fresh memory dancing in his eyes.
Their adventure draws to a close, not with punctuated exuberance, but with a quiet accord between the generations. Bob, with his fond memories of clipped spokes and rattling wheels, and Keegan, with his expanding universe of collectible relics, share a moment only the love of sport, the lore of legends, and the connection of family can create. A single day on a mundane holiday thus transformed into a hallmark memory, blending the past with the present in a burst of serendipitous fate and family bonding. And therein lies the true value of the thrill of pursuit—a reminder that sometimes, the real gems found in life are the ones you share.
