A Precious Gift In my family, education has always been considered very important. Before I can remember, I was told that my mother and father read to me every night. My family has deep experience in the field of books, my father is a collector and my mother works in a library. My dad loves books, in every way possible. He loves reading them, as does the rest of my family, but has a collector's interest in the books we miss. He once went to a local library to see if there were any books for sale. They actually had a book sale and he bought several off their shelves. He soon became a volunteer, then an organizer, and soon had his own key to the library. As my father and I's relationship progressed, I began going to book sales with him. I liked reading and I helped him a little too. We found out that the special semi-annual book sale was approaching. That morning I came with my father and we started carrying boxes of books on the tables. We observed a sale in front of us that apparently went hand in hand with our sale. I was assigned the task of raising money and the day was going well, because we had already made almost four hundred dollars for the library. At one point a young boy began his ascent up the small hill from selling tags. He was only seven or eight, by my estimate, and went straight to the table marked "children." After a minute or two he found four or five books he liked, put them in a neat pile, and started down the hill toward the yard sale. Almost a minute later he returned with a rather sad expression on his face. ."What's the problem?" I asked him as he took the stack and put the books back on the table. He shrugged and I pushed. “Don't you want those books?” I asked. I could tell he was shy. We already had something in common."No, I can't get them.""Oh? Why not?" I asked. I felt he wanted them." Because my mother won't give me money for those stupid books.