The excitement you got each time your teacher passed out Troll & Scholastic book order forms.
One of the best things about elementary school was that, for the most
part, the good days outweighed the bad ones. Nothing compared to the ridiculous joy derived from book sales and fairs. Book order forms may have been passed out monthly. I remember regularly obtaining and perusing those wonderful, colorful,
newspaper-y booklets. I can’t really describe how much my younger self
simply
adored reading. I’d read anything, from scary monster
books that gave me nightmares to really kiddy fare like the
Berenstain Bears. Between the ages of seven and twelve, books were
a staple.Receiving books unwarranted was all well and good, but I didn’t have
any power over the titles I received. With the book forms at school
however,
I did. I had ALL the power to choose whichever books I wanted!
I also had a very vivid imagination thanks to books. Sure, I could pick any books I wanted, but my parents, the ones
footing the bill, had the final say. I could circle 30 books on any
given form, and maybe I’d get 1/3
rd of my choices. Even
though the books were ridiculously cheap by adult standards (some
costing mere pennies), in our house all those books needed storage of
some kind, which lead to clutter, which lead to messiness, which lead to
screams of “where are my [insert series title here] books??". I’m sure they had some sort of system in
place for choosing what to buy, which may have been as simple as setting
a price limit ($5, $10), so all I could do was make my choices and hope
for the best. School days that were even
more betterer than the book forms
days were when the books arrived. Our books were sent to the school,
and seemingly like magic, they were already grouped under our names when
we got in. The teacher passed out bundles, and we were
happy. I was happy. My bundles were replete with high-flying fantasy,
true-to-life stories, eerie tales from the beyond,
Choose-Your-Own-Adventure novels, Mad Libs, and, most certainly, plenty
of Garfield! (And free posters, always!) I’d truck all those book homes
in my backpack and read, and read, and read until someone (perhaps my
Mom calling for dinner) broke my trance. It was the The. Best. Day.
It bears mentioning that I didn’t get books with each and every form.
Otherwise, goodness, I’d have been swimming in compact paperbacks!
These special days for me only happened a few times a year. Often they
were coupled with a book fair that was held by the school once or twice a
year. Held after school or on a weekend, at first I went with my
parents and they bought the books. As I got older, I was allowed to
attend them “by myself” with my parents acting more as chaperons than
police escorts. They’d give me $10 and off I went. Slowly. Oh so slowly.
Cause I only had $10, y’know. There was a fine line to walk between
getting
lots of books and getting the ones that mattered most.
As blissful as these memories are, they are inextricably tied to more
melancholy ones. For as many times as I remember received my fresh,
uncracked books in school, I also remember the few kids who never got
books. Order forms came and went, and they never got any bundles. I
won’t sit here and pretend to speculate anything about their lives
through the fog of the past, but it did make me a little sad to see them
there without any new books. Sadder still, I always felt like I should
have shared books with those kids who didn’t have any, but I never did.
It was bad enough that I had to share my shiny, new prizes with my
younger sister sometimes, with her sticky peanut butter hands and childish
carelessness, just because my parents said it “was the nice thing to
do.” I eventually traded a life with book forms for one with a library
card; however, my younger sister still got the forms. On
occasion, I’d glance through one even though I was far too “cool” and
“adult” for such nonsense. Still, the idea of getting
new books
rather than the ratty library books (which, yes, were so much more
accessible), was really quite appealing. And I remember the smiles on my
sister's faces when she brought home her bundles of new books. Best. Day.
Ever!
