Drab Treasure

DRAB TREASURE
I was nine. The year was 1976 or 1977 and I was in 4th grade. It was a very eventful year – full of discoveries – a new best friend that would last me the rest of my life, and a new love – one that would comfort me for all the days of my life.
My mom enjoyed yard sales. It was a Saturday, although I don’t know the season. Mama and I were meandering through the sellers at the local flea market. I reached down into a box and pulled out a treasure. Perhaps it wouldn’t look like a treasure to you, and I don’t honestly know why I was drawn to it, but it beckoned me—right through its drab brown cover, with masking tape band-aids. It was ancient! The copyright was 1908, and for 25 cents, it became my first antique book, and my first foray into poetry. It was a love affair waiting to happen! That’s why I was excited when my teacher assigned us a project. Her name was Mrs. Kathy Deavers, and it was a poetry project. While I don’t remember the details of the assignment, in gist, it was to create our own collection of poems that were special to us or that we loved. We had to have them categorized, illustrated, and a table of contents was to be included. As a nine-year-old, mine was a motley crew of poets – William Shakespeare dipped his pen next to Mother Goose, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow philosophized alongside me -- a young girl who was bewitched by love and poetry. Alfred Lord Tennyson lauded the eagle, and Longfellow recounted the history of Hiawatha and Paul Revere. And so it began – I read poetry; I wrote poetry – I love poetry.
My collection of antique poetry books has grown, and still they sidle next to Mother Goose, and modern children’s poets like Jack Prelutsky. In the center of it all still sits the drab brown poetry textbook from 1908 – one of my most treasured possessions. It stays by my bed – wear and tear from being loved hard and used much have required a few more band-aids. I have shared it through the years with students. My first year teaching, Joey loved it almost as much as I. Every day during quiet reading time, he would timidly approach my desk, “Mrs. Fletcher, can I please borrow your book of poems?” I often wonder if that was the beginning for him too.
My drab little brown treasure is full of poems, but if it could talk it would have plenty of stories to share about how it inspired more than one poetic soul during its lifetime.

Note: This was my entry for the NC Reading Association Young Author's Writing Contest -- it didn't place, but I enjoyed writing it!