Got a box from Amazon the other day. Bunch of books I'd ordered. Tend to order three or more at once; I "stock up" on whatever I'm looking forward to reading next. Only buy books that have been sitting on my Wish List for a while (six pages long, so I won't run out of candidates anytime soon).
But when I ripped open that box? Total flashback. Straight to childhood. The excitement of getting a package from the Weekly Reader Book Club.
For those who don't know (or more likely don't remember grade school very well), the Weekly Reader Book Club was this great way for kids to buy books dirt cheap. Once a month or so, the catalog would show up and the teacher handed one to every kid. Basically a five or six page flyer with dozens of kids' books. Special scholastic pricing meant your next Choose Your Own Adventure book or Motorcycle Mouse ran somewhere between 50 cents and two bucks.
Catalog day was a big deal for me. Always ordered something. Or, well, my mom always ordered something for me. I'd take that catalog home and spend hours analyzing it. Hours. Figuring out which books I definitely needed to advance my studies. Then I'd spend even more time building arguments to persuade my parents (usually Mom) to actually buy them. Had to have their cooperation because they controlled the almighty checkbook. Weekly Reader didn't take cash.
Once my defense was ready? Launched into a passionate speech the Founding Fathers would've been proud of.
The final choices always got tempered with "proper parental guidance" though. Less Clifford the Big Red Dog, more Ramona Quimby, Age 8. Didn't care. Just happy to be getting new books. My original order of 20 books would also get whittled down to 2 or 3. Looking back, that was probably my first taste of the good cop, bad cop routine. Mom played good cop, on my side. Dad played bad cop, arguing I didn't need that many, wouldn't have time to read them all in a month. Inevitably the order shrank to whatever number they'd already decided together behind closed doors. Tricky parents.
Then the check got written (and it was a BIG deal if it topped $8 or $9). Took the check and order to school, handed it to the teacher. Unfortunately there was always a two-week collection window. All the classroom orders shipped together as one batch. I turned mine in on like Day 2. Then had to sit there while other kids took their sweet time.
Finally the order went out. Another waiting period.
After what felt like several eternities, a big box would show up in class one day. Couldn't wait to rip it open. But the teacher? "We'll get to it AFTER the main lessons." After?!?!?! Couldn't she see how much more important this was??? Sheesh.
But sooner or later, box opened. Got my goodies.
Now I get Amazon boxes and feel that same rush. One thing's missing though. Back when I was a kid, getting those books meant something. It was a way of being special. Getting books from the Weekly Reader Book Club was a public statement that your parents cared about you. Every kid in class knew which kids got books and which didn't. My parents always came through. Can't remember a single time I didn't get at least one book. Even remember when the box arrived and it was all mine.
Wasn't a money thing. These were 50-cent books. It was a care thing. My parents let me and everyone else know, every single month, that they cared about me.
One of my best childhood memories.