Cancer And Baseball

Drip. Drip. Drip. I would eventually come to recognize the sound of lives sliding down the drain. The life of a physician would allow me a front row seat to the horrors of disease, premature death, and total financial destruction. But my earliest memories were of the small bathroom in the back of that little antiques store. The leaking faucet was just one of the many signs of the decrepit and decaying building. Downtrodden as it was, the storefront housed a certain vitality that attracted young and sometimes lonely preteens like myself. The owner, on a fluke one morning, decided to sell his old collection of baseball cards beside his bevy of antique trinkets and refurbished armoires. His first customer, a know it all teen, quickly bought his best cards at a ridiculous discount. The owner, impressed by the young man's knowledge, quickly hired him. The baseball business took over. Before he knew it, the owner was bringing in more on cards than antiques. The market was certainly there, kids came from all over the neighborhood. They congregated at the back of the store by the glass counter with eyes wide. They bought packs, opening them as fast as their little fingers would permit, and stuffed the free piece of gum into their mouths with one fell swoop. But it wasn't just the cards, the kids were also drawn to the owner. He was both congenial and authoritative. A buddy when you needed one, he was also the perfect source of fatherly advice. Still spinning from the death of ...
Source: In My Humble Opinion - Category: Family Physicians Authors: Source Type: blogs