Besides Barbie Magazine, (I need to write a post about that.) there was another thing I looked forward to receiving in the mail every month: my box of Weekly Reader books. For those not familiar with this magical box, it was a subscription of books based on the child’s age. I would stop playing just so I could read all the books in the box. My mother tried to ration the books, but I was a book fiend even then. I would read and re-read them. I would even read them to my cats.
Back then, I was just having fun. Reading was one of my favorite activities. Now I have to thank my mother for helping to instill a life long love of reading in me. She taught me to read and made sure I always had books, no matter how limited her budget was. Receiving that box of books made me feel special. They weren’t hand me downs or something I had to share, that experience was mine alone. Reading opened up a new world to me beyond the city streets of my neighborhood and cultivated my desire to learn and grow.
I eventually outgrew Weekly Reader because of my advanced reading skills, but I will never forget what it meant to me every time one of those packages would arrive.
Dimples and Grins 
This is a nice post. Remember when Mommy read Weekend at Wendall’s to us when we were grown-ups?
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Yes, that was better than when reading it when we were little. 🐭
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