For today's post, I thought I'd do another "blast from the past." How many of you had Scholastic Book Club while in elementary school? A recent post about their revamp made me remember this particular inspiration.
In addition to gifts at birthdays and Christmas (we always got books from my omnivorous reader parents), the book club let me pick and buy my.very.own.books! Remember, this was before Amazon, chain book stores, or even many independents. Rural Maine.
I remember studying the list closely, reading each description carefully. Sometimes one--maybe an author fav or featuring haunted houses, secrets, or witches--would grab me immediately. Other times I would have to mentally break a tie between several possibilities. Kind of like studying a restaurant menu and hoping you pick the best dish and are not disappointed.
I usually had enough money to buy two or three at a time. We handed in our slips and I'd hope I had made the absolutely best choices.
Then the waiting began. I'd almost forget about the whole thing when one day, a familiar cardboard box would be on the teacher's desk, that delightful odor of paper and fresh ink emanating from it.
He or she would pull them out and call our names to get our order. My last name began with "B" so I was near the beginning! Yay!
I'd grab those precious new experiences and take them back to my desk. Then, I admit, I would begin reading. Secretly. Under my desk. Who cared about all the boring stuff?
I had my books.
