When I was six

My grandfather would routinely give me presents  in a small box. It was hung on the wall of the garage where he and Edythe, my grandma lived. He was retired, and would go out walking around the neighborhood in the morning. He would scavenge the area and pick up random trinkets and tools for me. Often he would get me trading cards for the American Football League. I was never really interested in football dispute this. Since we did not have TV at my house, I would spend Friday night at their house. In the morning I would watch cartoons while Grandma made pancakes or biscuits. In the afternoons we would watch whatever my Grandpa sports on TV, usually baseball or football. I could understand baseball. It had a rule set that I could grock. The play had a long simmering tension, persistently churning forward. The battle between pitcher and batter, outfielders and infielders. The rules and finer points of football always eluded my comprehension.

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