I remember being a little kid in primary school and hearing about the upcoming Book Fair. “There will be all kinds of books there,” my teacher (Mrs. Ford if it was first grade, then Mrs. McBride, Mrs. Winters, Mrs. Kraatz, and so on) said. She added, “You can buy them if you bring your money.”
Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy oh boy!
I can still remember the feeling. Hell, I’m actually FEELING that feeling now–the squirmy, electric feeling running up and down my spine. I could actually BUY books! Yeah, sure, the library was cool, and all–I’d check out books all the time and bring ‘em back and check out new ones–but this time, the book would be MINE. I could read it whenever I wanted and put it on my shelf and read it AGAIN sometime later! I’d have it RIGHT THERE on my shelf next to my bed!
I remember getting that catalog, printed on the colorful pulp paper that really reminded you you were READING–that raspy feeling on your finger pads as you turned the pages, images and rows of books about all manner of things! Skip past the picture books, boyo–I know how to READ–and get me to the good stuff. Yeah, there’s some stuff here about girls on the prairie churning butter, which, I dunno, I suppose some people like (far be it from me to impugn anyone else’s literary tastes) but where are the knights on horseback tilting at each other for honor and chivalry and…whatever reasons they had. Where are the robots and spaceships? Where are the sports stories about the kid who saved up his lawnmowing money to buy a mitt? (Oh, God…I still remember the titles! The Secret Little Leaguer, Fullback Fury) or the ones in hardcover with the checkerboard design about car racing?
They’d be there, of course–they always were. I would count the money my parents had gifted me for just such an event (an “allowance,” they called it, whatever that was) and shrewdly calculate how much I could buy. This book was longer, so it was more valuable in terms of pages-per-pennies, but this other one looked damn interesting. Could I afford both?
I’d calculate furiously, then make my decisions and carefully tick off the boxes on the order sheet. I’d hand the resulting page to Mrs. Kraatz (or whichever wonderful woman I had that year–they were all wonderful) and try to convey with my eyes and overall demeanor that she held my life in her hands.
She never lost the order form, never failed to come through. None of ‘em did. I wonder if they knew how much it would shape me, being encouraged passively like that?
The books would arrive, and I had a passing pang of regret for those poor souls who hadn’t purchased any. In my naive mind, I figured they must not have had an “allowance” so didn’t have money for books. This feeling only lasted a moment, though, and I never considered chipping in to help them. That would have cut into my budget, which was unthinkable.
Oh! Oh! Mrs. Kraatz! Right here! You said my name! I’d hurry forward and reverently take the stack of books I’d ordered from her. Oh, my…even better than I’d hoped. They had that smell–you know, that smell of packing dust and wood pulp and ink and most of all PROMISE. They promised adventure and action and ideas that’d make you go “oooh” when you read it and comforted you by letting you know the bad guys would always get theirs and challenged you by letting you know they don’t always and made you uneasy because sometimes dogs died and there was nothing you could do about it and puzzled you because how come boys and girls acted that way towards each other if they weren’t Mom and Dad but most of all they were your friends.
Books…especially the ones I’d bought myself…were my best friends. Oh, don’t go thinking I was one of those loners who didn’t have real actual friends. I did–kids on my baseball team or neighborhood kids who rode bikes with me or later kids who played Dungeons and Dragons or who made funny jokes no one else seemed to laugh at but me, guys (and sometimes girls) like that.
But books–we had a bond. We stayed up late together (and thank you, Mother and Father, for pretending not to notice I was still awake and would start reading again as soon as you left my bedroom to check I was asleep) we cried and laughed and thought together.
Now, I can afford any book I want, and I can order one instantly for the Kindle and get it in a matter of seconds. I have an extensive library, both of physical books and electronic ones, and I want for nothing.
Still, I miss that feeling of the Book Fair when, for a dollar eighty-five, anything was possible.
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