When I was nine, I didn’t know what collections were, but I did know that people had them. So one day, on a whim, I declared myself a proud state quarter collector (whatever that means) and set about searching the house for quarters. I didn’t know what I was looking for, really. I mean, I did know I wanted the quarters with the places and names on the back, the ones that were special and must’ve meant something to someone out there. I kept thinking that, one day, I would wake up and realize the true reason I had been stashing away those coins all this time. But it never happened, and eventually, ashamed and frustrated, I left my glass jar outside of my brother’s door, all fifty one of his quarters inside.