Last week, I sold my childhood. By that, I mean that I boxed up most of my childhood books and took them to Hastings to sell. My reasons for doing this were twofold: one, I needed the space on my shelves. I currently have four bookshelves that are still full, and I am hoping to move into a one-room apartment soon. There are only so many books that can be fit into a one-room apartment. Reason two is that one-room apartments cost money, and every little bit counts. One hundred dollars is a great help.
Besides, these were old books, books that I would probably never read again. Even if I did re-read them, would I appreciate them as much now as I had back then? If I sold them to Hastings, they could go on and have a new home, a home where maybe—hopefully—the owner would appreciate them as much as I had.
The transaction was very businesslike. I’m not sure what I expected—after all, it was a business transaction. But these were my books, the books that had kept me company when I was a kid. I didn’t have a lot of flesh-and-blood friends as a youngster; I had books. I kept some of my favorites, books that I hoped to share with my friends’ kids when they have them, but there were some good books in those boxes: Artemis Fowl, The Dragonriders of Pern (I didn’t always read age-appropriate materials), and other books that I had read over and over, including most of my manga.
I brought in the four heavy boxes and a few large hardbacks that wouldn’t fit and browsed Hastings for a couple of hours while two young cashiers went through my treasures and picked which ones they would take. They didn’t take all of them. In fact, they didn’t take Artemis Fowl or Dragonriders, but they took most of my childhood loves.
I’m still a bit melancholy about it, but I know that now these books have a chance to be another kid’s friend.