WHY
TREECKO?

I grew up with three older brothers. When Pokémon Red and Blue became the games everyone had to play, my brothers Zach and Josh were already staking out their territory. Zach had Red and always gravitated toward Charizard. Josh — who we also call Chili — had Blue and always chose Blastoise.

Being the younger brother meant I often ended up with Venusaur. At the time it felt like I was getting whatever was left. Looking back, those little rivalries are some of the memories that made Pokémon special in the first place.

We collected the cards together too. Our mom bought packs for us, and some of the cards floating around between four brothers would eventually become the kind of cards collectors now call vintage. We had holographics, Mewtwo, Team Rocket cards, Charizards, Scythers, promos, legendary Pokémon, and plenty of others.

We didn't think of them as investments. There were no price charts open on our phones. They were pieces of a world we loved, things to trade, compare, show off, and occasionally argue about. Some of my favorite memories are simply seeing what my brothers had in their collections.

Eventually I got Pokémon Yellow. This was the era of dial-up internet, walkthroughs, printed guides, rumors, cheat codes, and stories about hidden Pokémon. We knew about Mew tricks and other secrets mostly because somebody had found something online and passed it along.

Information didn't arrive instantly. Discovering something new actually felt like discovering something. That sense of mystery is still one of the things I associate most strongly with the Pokémon of my childhood.

By Pokémon Ruby and Sapphire, something felt different. Sapphire was one of the first Pokémon games where I remember feeling like the starter decision was completely mine rather than part of the choices and rivalries between my brothers.

I normally wasn't the person who automatically chose the Grass-type starter, but Treecko clicked. The design, confidence, strength, and personality made it memorable. Even seeing Treecko portrayed in the anime gave the Pokémon a coolness and attitude that stuck with me.

Like a lot of people from my generation, I eventually drifted away. I remember Ruby and Sapphire clearly and vaguely remember LeafGreen, but generations such as Diamond and Pearl and Black and White mostly passed me by.

The cards did too. I had cards I loved — including a Mew promo, Entei and the legendary dogs, and plenty of others — but over the years cards were sold, moved, forgotten, or simply stopped feeling important. Life has a way of doing that.

Coming back as an adult has been fascinating because there are entire generations of Pokémon, card sets, mechanics, and collecting terminology that I never experienced. I'm learning about reverse holos, stamped cards, promos, print variants, grading, condition, rarity, and releases I never knew existed.

I also appreciate the artwork differently now. In a world where so much of what we own and experience exists on a screen, there is something satisfying about physically holding a Pokémon card, looking closely at the artwork, and being able to hand it to somebody else and say, “Look at this.”

The deeper I went into Treecko collecting, the more I realized that the fun wasn't only about owning an expensive card. It was learning that another version existed, searching for it, finding somebody who had one, understanding why it mattered, and adding another piece to the collection.

That eventually became two goals: try to document and own every Treecko card and variation I can find, while also building a physical collection of 10,000 Treecko cards. The duplicates are part of the story too.