Three words, three wonderful words, that I hold dear to my heart. That represent so much meaning, so much intimacy, so much life. Three words that I dream of, that I whisper to myself, that I would give anything to feel the rush of hearing again. No, I don’t mean ‘I love you’. I’m talking about the scholastic book fair.
Do you remember the rush you would feel, at only eight years old, lined up outside the school library or common room that you knew was just teeming with every book, set of pencils, or craft set that you could ever dream of? Remember not being able to sleep the night before school, and then waking up an hour early, buzzed with the kind of excitement usually reserved for school camp or excursions?
The last time I remember feeling that energy, I was ten years old, in year four, and truly floating with joy because my best friend had bought me a pacer/mechanical pencil/thing(?) with some of the spare change from her book purchase.
Me pulling up to the Scholastic Book Fair with 10 dollars in 2005: pic.twitter.com/aNBze1KDAE
— Gooby (@G00BYDOOBY) October 13, 2021
I grew up in a family that was constantly under financial stress, and we never had the spare income for me to be able to actually buy anything from the fair. Instead, I usually just had fun circling all the cool things I wanted from the catalogue with a red marker. It was my version of window shopping, for things I couldn’t afford. Maybe that’s kind of sad, but that was my reality.
But then, there I was — ten years old, my best friend in the whole world handing me a little gift that meant more to me than she ever knew — a clear green (or was it pink?) cartridge pencil, which looked like a cross between a pencil and a Pushpop.
These things were the height of coolness in my school. They were status, they were class. Kind of like how having LCMs for recess immediately propelled you into the ruling class of our grade. I realise this may have been specific to my school, but it was definitely a thing.
Now, thirteen years on, I am a person in my twenties who works full time and lives outside of home. I’ve lived a long life since then, I’ve grown a lot, made incredible friendships, etc etc. And yet, a part of me still yearns for the excitement that the scholastic book fair brought to me as a kid.
Thirteen years later, I’m still chasing the rush that came with that fateful day, once a year, still craving an experience so invigorating it could make me wake up at 6am for no reason.
One day maybe. But until then, I’ll be thinking, nay, dreaming, of the scholastic book fair.
