When I was a kid, I collected a lot of stuff. If I had more than two of anything, it became a collection. I collected rocks, pennies, arrowheads, stamps, and old keys. None of my many collections were ever organized or displayed. They were an ever-shifting assortment of boxes, dresser drawers, and under-the-bed piles. I almost forgot about the baseball cards. I had so many baseball cards.
I noticed recently that this incessant need to collect things might be hereditary. My son is always squirreling things away. I tried to throw away a handful of empty toilet paper tubes and he protested that he was collecting them. His newest collection might be the strangest. It’s condiments. He has a plastic container full of little packets taken from restaurants. “Check it out, I have four different kinds of fake sugar.”