I love children who love books. Children riding in their strollers who, when they come upon a slew of books, instantly reach out to them. Or children walking with their moms and dad who get down on their haunches to inspect them and turn them over and marvel at them.
I saw plenty of that at a flea market over the weekend. I had a pile of books on black plastic garbage bags on the concrete sidewalk, strewn about, at toddler-and-child level. I had bought them the week before at a flea market, a large clear plastic bag so full of small hardbacks and paperbacks that I could barely get it to my car. I bidded on one of three bags.
I knew they’d be a hit at 50 cents each at an upcoming flea market. I didn’t buy the books to make a profit, though. I bought them because I love to see children reading books. And I have this thing for children books (I have a collection of them by African American and other illustrators) – the simple laid-out stories, the beautiful illustrations, the lively colors. The same thing, I’m sure, that draws the little ones.
These were toddler books for small hands. And that’s who they mostly attracted.
One little girl, her hair pulled tightly toward the back in ponytails, rolled past in her stroller. “I want a book,” she said. Behind her, mom was too busy talking on her cell phone to hear the child’s small voice. The girl repeated her request several times. Soon, an older girl about 12 or 13 brought over a pink watch and tried to put it on the little girl’s arm. She would have nothing of it. Looking tired and ornery – in a quiet way – the little girl swatted the watch aside. She didn’t want it; she wanted a book.
The teen insisted, dropping the watch in the little girl’s lap. The child pushed and brushed away the watch trying to knock it to the ground. “I’m going to pop you,” the teen said, as the little girl finally got the watch out of her lap. “She wants a book,” I said, but like the little girl, I was ignored.
Mom finally closed her phone, and walked past the books. I got up from my chair, looked through the books, picked up one about a country mouse and caught up with them. She wanted a book, I said to the mother, and handed the book to the little girl. “Tell her thank you,” mom said.
I’m not sure if she did or not, but the most important thing was that she got a book. If a child asks for a book, buy it and let her read it. Better yet, read it to her.
Most professionals urge parents to read to their children at an early age to instill a lifelong love for it. Reading can take them places far away from home, places they may never get to see as children but can make a date to explore as an adult. It can “open doors.” It helps them to articulate an opinion or express a feelings or debate an issue. It’ll keep their minds (and adult minds, too) alert. Reading books outside their comfort zones opens them up to the world, and other people and cultures.
Across from me at the flea market was a former teacher, who once sold pricey shoes and purses at consignment shops but now sold at flea markets. (She told me that she had recently made $800 selling swimsuits out of her trunk to women in water aerobics classes.) Retired, her business card said she was a reading specialist (a coincidence?). She was an ebullient woman, warm and friendly, full of talk and laughter and stories.
She must’ve been a wonderful teacher. A teacher that any of the children would’ve loved to call theirs. The children who stopped to examine my books were obviously readers, with parents who encouraged them. Most of the parents got on their haunches alongside their children to sort through the books. One father bought his daughter two books; she wanted a third one, but he said no. He ambled over to the next booth and asked about buying DVDs for her (“He’ll buy a DVD so she can sit in front of a TV but not another book,” I said, exasperated, to my auction buddy Janet).
One mother told her adolescent daughter to find a book. “These are baby books,” the girl said. She was right; these were for young children. Mom wasn’t accepting that answer at face value, though. She glanced down at them herself. The girl pointed to a Word Search Puzzles book. No way, said mom. She wanted daughter to find a book she could “read.” She pointed to “Little Bear’s Visit,” with pictures by Maurice Sendak and the story of “Johnny Appleseed.” All baby books, the girl repeated. They moved on.
Young people, though, were not the only ones into the books: One 20-something woman stopped by. She taught at the elementary school on the corner near the flea market, she said, and she’s fixing up her classroom. A first-year teacher, she was headed to her classroom right then.
She came to the right place. I told her to choose as many books as she wanted and we’d talk about the price. She came up with two stacks of books, about 25 to 30 of them. $2, I said. She thanked me profusely. I thanked her, she was the one who needed a pat on the back.
“You should’ve bought all three bags,” Janet said.
She was right. And I would’ve given one of the bags free to this nice school teacher.
