A Precious GiftEducation has always been considered very important in my family. Ever since I can remember, I have been told that my mother and father read to me every night. My family has a strong background in books, with my father being a collector and my mother working in a library. My father loves books, in every way I can think of. He loves reading them, like the rest of my family, but he has a collector's interest in the books we miss. He once went to a local library to check if there was a book sale. They actually held a book sale and he bought many of the books on their shelves. Soon he became a volunteer, then an organizer, and soon had his own key to the library. As my father and I's relationship evolved, I began accompanying him to book sales. I loved reading and I helped him a little too. We found out that the special semi-annual book sale was coming up. I came with my father that morning and we started carrying boxes of books to the tables. We observed in front of us a sale of labels which, it seemed, went hand in hand with our sale. I was given the task of collecting money and the day went well, as we had already earned almost four hundred dollars for the library. At one point a little boy started walking up the little hill from the tag sale. He was only seven or eight years old by my estimation and headed straight for the table marked “children”. After a minute or two he had found four or five books he liked, put them in a pile, and started walking back down the hill to the tag sale. Nearly a minute later he came back with a rather sad look on his face. ."What's the problem?" I asked him as he took the pile and placed the books back on the table. He shrugged and I pushed. “You don’t want these books?” I asked. I could tell he was shy. We already had something in common. “No, I can’t have them.” "Oh? Why not?" I asked. I felt he wanted them. "Because my mother won't give me the money for 'stupid books'"..