The significance of 1961

People who know me often get the impression that I'm a collector, because I have a lot of stuff: books, comic books, old toys, records, whatever. But the truth is, I'm more of an accumulator, or as some might say, a pack-rat. Every time I see one of these professional organizers (or "clutter-busters" or whatever they call themselves) on TV or in the paper talking about how we all need to get rid of all of our old stuff because it somehow traps or imprisons us, I just cringe.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: All of that "stuff" is my external memory. And the "human need to collect" runs strong in me, as my wife will tell you.

The same holds true for e-mails. Lots of folks think I'm crazy because I don't delete my old e-mails—I archive them instead. Reading back through them—especially the ones I wrote, which are almost like a journal or diary at times—helps me "see" what I was doing and where I was at those times, kinda like the way hearing an old song will sometimes remind you of a person or a place from back when.

I've been looking through old e-mails today to see if I've ever written about the leprachaun sightings I experienced as a kid in Northern Ireland. So far it seems that I didn't, but I keep running across other interesting stuff, which is why I'm posting so much today.

While talking with other collectors (or accumulators) a while back, we noted that many of us seem to have a particular affinity for a certain year or years.

For example, I seem to have an affection for things from 1961. Comics, toys, catalogs, baseball cards, stuff like that.

It's difficult to sort out exactly what 1961 represents to me, but it feels like it was an important time in my young life. In a lot of ways, it was the year I became an American—that I settled into the culture—even though I already was one by birth. I'd lived overseas for about half my life until 1959, but it wasn't until 1961 that we stopped moving around and I started to feel like I belonged somewhere and was part of something bigger than my immediate family.

We moved into our own house in May of that year, after having lived with the grandparents (on both sides) for nearly two years after we returned from Northern Ireland. I started making a circle of friends in my new neighborhood, some of whom I'm still friends with today. My sense of belonging somewhere, embracing the place I grew up, and the role those things payed in shaping my identity really began to solidify that year.

My home state, Minnesota, got a professional baseball team that year, my grandpa started teaching me how to play baseball, I discovered comic books and baseball cards, I discovered the Sears and Wards Christmas catalogs, I started watching a lot more TV. I played cowboys and Indians with the neighborhood kids, and I learned their games like kickball, tag, ditch, kick the can and the rest.

I suppose it was a transitional year between what I'd been (a Foreign Service brat with no roots) and what I'd become (a Minnesota boy, more specifically a Stillwater boy, who lived in a very Catholic neighborhood on the South Hill), and subconsciously that made a deep impression.

The weird thing is, I didn't set out to collect stuff from 1961, it was just a pattern I saw developing over time when I looked at the things I was starting to accumulate.

For some reason, 1965 resonates in my collecting as well, but not as much. I haven't given that as much thought, but if I did, I'd guess that it was the year I started "growing up," although I was only 10 years old. But it was also the year the Twins went to their first World Series, the year I really got into Marvel Comics, my last year in elementary school...

But I guess I can dissect that another time.