When I was a boy I collected stamps. It seemed a harmless enough hobby. I would buy bags of used stamps at the local farmers’ market and, after soaking them to remove the envelope fragments to which they were attached, I would affix a stamp hinge to the back of each and add them to the collection in my Traveler Stamp Album. My father kept his eye out for interesting stamps that crossed his desk at work and brought them home for me.

I collected celebrity autographs too. I had a book with the addresses of TV and movie studios that I used to write to my favorite stars with a fan letter/autograph request. I could usually tell which ones were actual signatures and which were reproductions. The Jimmys – Cagney and Stewart – were real.

In my teens, I started collecting records. Once I fell into that rabbit hole I never stopped falling. I haven’t hit the bottom yet.

I was never one to collect sexual conquests or the hearts of the ones who made mine tender. The first one was too precious to abandon in pursuit of another. I guess that is what cured me of my habit of collecting.