Scholastic Book Fair!

Everyone remembers the Scholastic Book Fair, that was the big thing in the fall. It was one of the first school events to look forward to aside from Santa's shop opening up in December. When you are going to school in the middle of nowhere the book fair is an even bigger event, because there's not much else to look forward to. It all starts a week in advance when they send you home with the catalog so your parents can plan how much money they are going to send with you the following week. Each class has their own set time to go down and shop, and then there is lunch time and recess to look through the goodies.

Yes, a truly wonderful time of year. . . except for me.

I must admit I used to get excited about the book fair, because excitement is very contagious when you're a kid. Energy spreads like wildfire through a classroom, teachers will understand what I'm talking about. Getting that paper catalog with all the well designed covers and goodies to look at only made it worse. By the time we left school kids were riding a high that rivaled Christmas morning. The BOOK FAIR!!!

The fact I was infected with all the good feelings only made it worse when I arrived home. I would show my mom the catalog, having already circled the items I wanted, to which she would laugh. Yes, she would laugh at me and say, “why do you want this stuff? You don't read and I'm not wasting money on you.” She was right, in some regard, I didn't read. Reading in my household was a chore—a punishment—not something you did for enjoyment. I struggled at a young age learning to read, mainly because I switched schools so often. Dani didn't have the patients to teach me how to read either. Four stumbled words in and she would throw her hands up in aggravation, declaring that I wasn't trying at all. How I managed to make it through my school years, I'll never know. I learned how to survive—how to make it through trails when everything was working against me. For that I feel little pride, but a whole lot of sorrow for the child I was.

Why am I writing about the book fair, right?

Because it's that time of year when everyone is posting about it. They are remembering the joy and delight of seeing those mobile book shelves full of wonderful fantasy tales and stationary goodies. The loot they often came home with and cherished for weeks after, little treasures tucked away in their desks and reserved only for special occasions. I. . . I never got to experience that joy. Dani never gave me any money for the event, it was a waste in her mind. Nothing. . . not a single penny to even buy a pencil. When our classroom's time came to visit the fair I stood off to the side, watching as kids pillaged the pop-up shop. They picked out their sparkly pencils and chocolate scented erasers, and filled bags with books I envied they could read and understand. I had to watch as their parents showed up and helped their kids shop, writing checks to large amounts for books to help their minds grow—books that inspired imagination and creativity.

To me those kids came from a rich family, and Dani reinforced that idea over and over again. I lived in a household where it was us against the world, or more pointedly, the upper middle class. So now, when I see posts for the book fair I'm reminded of that heartbreak. The deep pain of knowing I was less than even as a child. The memory of being mocked for my interest in books—which were looked down upon in my house—still haunts me, and I hold myself back from reading even now. Even though I have found I enjoy it a great deal. I've recently discovered my love for books, and the one thing I want to do around this time of year is crash a book fair. Buy every last book I ever saw that I wanted, and spend a month reading them all. It's an insane idea/desire, but it's better than crying every time I remember how restricted I was as a child. How my natural creativity and imagination was stifled and joked about. I'm not the black sheep in my family, far from it. I'm the purple sheep with the mohawk, and most of the time I'm okay with that but. . . sometimes it's really hard always being on the outside of. . . well, everything.

#BookFair #HelpChildrenRead #BookLover #PainfulMemories #BadMom

~Jax~