When I was young, the object of my affection was stickers. I was sticker mad. I had a sticker collection which mainly came from bookclub purchases my mother reluctantly paid for. What on earth do you want more for? You don't do anything with them. And I didn't either. I just used to stick them in my album and look at them. Arrange them in different configurations and sometimes, if they were lucky, give out the ones I didn't like to my brother and sister. The really crappy ones that said 'cool' in icicle-style font. I collected stamps and ink pads and embossing powder too.
But for all the stickers I had, all I ever wanted was those ones that the teachers gave out. Those wonderfully round stickers with praise like 'Good Work' and 'Tops!' written on them with some scholarly picture accompanying it like an apple or a smiling pencil man. Once, I opened up the back of my book and I saw the biggest, shiniest sticker I had ever seen. I'd written out all the lyrics to Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer when our teacher had simply asked us to write down our favourite christmas carol - a literal child.
Anyway, the point is when I was about eleven I had a friend whose mum knew the librarian and had access to the teacher's stationary order forms. Low and behold - sticker access. Actual real, genuine teacher stickers - and I could order as many as I want. And I did. The funny thing is though, when I got them and had them all there on a sheet, all for my very self, something changed. They lost all their specialness and it was like I had to grow up on the spot, in that moment.
I don't know about you, but I think life would be a lot easier if teacher stickers were still the object of my affection.
love,
cactus
xx
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