I no longer have the souvenir shop faux-aged, browning copy of the Declaration of Independence or the postcard of President Lincoln, both of which my parents purchased for me on our lone family trip to Washington, D.C. I bought the copy of the Declaration because it looked cool and I liked to read, and the postcard because, at the time, I attended Lincoln Elementary. (I believe my brother bought a copy of the Constitution and a miniature 18th-century artillery piece, which, in hindsight, perhaps, portended his later choice to become a bass player.)
I recall my parents happily purchasing these items for me, especially the faux Declaration of Independence. Though I was in elementary school, I was already showing the distinct signs of becoming an avid reader. This pleased my parents, who were both teachers. Indeed, they—as well as my aunt and grandparents—had a standing policy that they would always purchase any book my brother and I sought to read. All they asked in return was that we read them.
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