A regular day that feels like Christmas
Picture this: an elementary class a freckle-faced keener squirming at her desk a teacher holding a box and calling out family names a sluggish clock unbearable levels of pent-up anticipation Eventually, my name would ring out. I would scurry to the teacher’s desk to collect a precious bundle of books, which stretched an elastic fastener to its limits. Even though that was decades ago, I recall those days with incredible clarity. Scholastic book days―my favourite school days. Weeks after carefully poring through the newsprint catalogue, checking boxes and adding up totals, at last, my book selections would arrive. Comic collections, Choose-your-own-adventure novels, Clifford and Curious George picture books, the Miss Pickerell series, how-to books, biographies and countless other affordable reads. Scholastic had them all. Each batch of books came with yet another mail-order catalogue. The marketing whizzes who compiled those flyers knew their trade. They could entice m...