Interesting side story: I basically grew up on a baseball field. All us boys collected thousands of baseball cards. One day, half of my stash is gone. I knew one of my friends took them, but had no way to prove it.
Anyway, collected more but eventually grew out of it and everything went into storage.
In college, baseball cards come up in conversation. I told everyone I have a ton and will bring back the hoard the next time I visit the parental units.
When I bring them back, all us dorks start going through the boxes. There were some really really nice cards in there. All except for the fact that my mom but my initials on every single one with nail polish because of what happened when I was kid.