A Memoir on Scholastic Nostalgia, Parental Oversight, and One Tiny Minecraft Book
Setting: April 2026
Scholastic Book Fairs were a major event when I was a kid. So were the paper order forms that came home from school, full of glossy covers and promises. My mom and I were both voracious readers, which meant she usually encouraged me to get as many books as I wanted. I’d come home with a stack and feel absolutely elated.Naturally, I assumed my own kids would inherit this deep love of books.
They did not.
They like books well enough. They read when required. They enjoy the occasional series. But neither of them have ever looked at a Scholastic flyer the way I used to, like it was a sacred text.
Still, we’ve tried to preserve the tradition.
Their schools hold book fairs a couple times a year. The kids can usually shop during the school day, but it’s also open one evening so parents can come too. I’ve almost always chosen the evening option. Partly because I like going with them, and partly because I’m not especially interested in sending elementary-aged boys to school with cash and optimism.
Also, if I’m being honest, I prefer to supervise the spending.
My philosophy has always been simple: at a book fair, you buy books.
Not fuzzy pencils.
Not posters.
Not novelty erasers shaped like tacos.
Books.
This has meant years of them begging for those exact kinds of things and me saying no.
Then Holden's school had their spring book fair the same night as Lego Club, so we couldn’t make the evening session. For the first time, he went during school hours with some cash of his own and no commissioner looking over his shoulder.
He came home with a puppy poster. A bookmark. Invisible ink pens for himself, a friend, and Caleb.
And one tiny, measly Minecraft book.
Reader, I was rattled.
Then he casually mentioned he’d had a few dollars left over, so he gave them to a classmate who didn’t have any money and wanted to buy something.
I used to come home from the book fair with stacks of stories.
Holden came home with one tiny book, several questionable purchases, and evidence of character.
If I’m honest, he may have understood the assignment better than I did.
This post is part of my One-Minute Memoir series — short reflections on small moments that still manage to say something big.
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