Last week I saw a Scholastics‘ book order belonging to a co-worker’s son. This brought back memories of when I begged my mom for a list of books long enough to supply myself, and my seven siblings, with reading material for a year: my four sisters and three brothers supplied mom with equally long lists. And of course, mom wanted to eliminate ordering four copies of Old Yeller and four copies of the latest Nancy Drew books that we were sure was our God-given-right to own as our own personal copies. But mom’s gentle approach always melted our stubborn commitment toward even the most unholy of things.

Although I was from a large one income family my parents allowed us, except for duplicates, almost any book we would ask for through Scholastics. This must have been an expense that hit the family budget in tangible ways that I was too young to realize. I suspect my parents saw it more as an investment than expense. After a couple of very long weeks the books would be delivered to our school. Some years I would have a teacher who thought best to leave the books piled along the window sills until the end of the day. I am sure she wanted me personally to keep my mind on her lesson de’ jour but all I could do was drool over what was to come. The end of the day would eventually come and with books in hand, since back packs were not used then, I would walk home. Sometimes having to protect my treasures from sleet, freezing rain, and snow deep enough to shut the whole nation down if it had happened in today’s society. Ok, my memory could be a bit off on that part but I can clearly remember that after dinner that evening I would fight for my rightful place in one of the hand me down chairs and sofa we had.

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