Rainbow Brite Shiney!
Annika made a post talking about a "friend" when she was little who conned her into giving up stickers in trade for friendship. Got me thinking - firstly, that kids are sneakly little bastards; secondly, stickers really were the blood diamonds of the schoolyard; thirdly, again with kids being rather sneaky.
Some of the key memoires of childhood centre around stickers. Jarrod had a whole selection of beautiful shimmer butterfly stickers; the likes of which had never been seen before on the playground. WHOLE SHEETS of stickers - fuzzies, inks, scratch n' sniff - were offered in trade.
But they weren't actually stickers. They were wallpaper he had cut out. But he wasn't backing down, and we all were livid. He argued they could stick - so they were stickers. We cried foul as they couldn't be peeled off their backing and put on notebooks. Or something. Who knows. They were pretty - yes - but they violated the rules of trade. And we just knew it was sneaky. We could feel it.
But the sad feeling for the fellow who brough strange "other" stickers. From suitcases or warning stickers from appliances. They were stickers, but they were ripped and had writing on them and weren't what it was all about. But he kept insisting they were technically stickers and he wanted to trade.
Or the time Lark (where the hell did all these kids get their names?) was late to trading so she wanted to swap for my new kitty fuzzies during class. A quick pass was made - but not quick enough. A four-sheet of fuzzies went into Mrs. Shannon's desk drawer. After school I walked up with my oh-so-cute strawberry smock and Grade Two confidence in how to be nice to teachers.
No go. This wasn't a warning, this was a final sentence. Stickers were gone for good. The bus ride home saw some ugly words going back and forth about the transaction. Had it been completed? Who gets what? Did we need to share the loss?
But I also remember the joy of gifts back then. I mean, I can still FEEL the smooth pages of my first official sticker book. Not a photo album converted - no - a REAL LIFE STICKER BOOK with different theme pages and the ability to peel on and off. The THRILL of a fuzzy pack of cute dinosaurs. The amazement over the new, high-tech inks (if you pushed on them they changed colours). Wearing out the ewwww dill pickle stratch'n'sniff.
And unicorns. Shiny baby unicorns. I still have two of those. And I still have my sticker book in my basement.
Wouldn't this post have been much better if I got a picture to include.
I'm at work.
But I really liked this entry on this site here.
Well, that's rather moot- I can't upload pics right now anyways. Stupid blogger.
Some of the key memoires of childhood centre around stickers. Jarrod had a whole selection of beautiful shimmer butterfly stickers; the likes of which had never been seen before on the playground. WHOLE SHEETS of stickers - fuzzies, inks, scratch n' sniff - were offered in trade.
But they weren't actually stickers. They were wallpaper he had cut out. But he wasn't backing down, and we all were livid. He argued they could stick - so they were stickers. We cried foul as they couldn't be peeled off their backing and put on notebooks. Or something. Who knows. They were pretty - yes - but they violated the rules of trade. And we just knew it was sneaky. We could feel it.
But the sad feeling for the fellow who brough strange "other" stickers. From suitcases or warning stickers from appliances. They were stickers, but they were ripped and had writing on them and weren't what it was all about. But he kept insisting they were technically stickers and he wanted to trade.
Or the time Lark (where the hell did all these kids get their names?) was late to trading so she wanted to swap for my new kitty fuzzies during class. A quick pass was made - but not quick enough. A four-sheet of fuzzies went into Mrs. Shannon's desk drawer. After school I walked up with my oh-so-cute strawberry smock and Grade Two confidence in how to be nice to teachers.
No go. This wasn't a warning, this was a final sentence. Stickers were gone for good. The bus ride home saw some ugly words going back and forth about the transaction. Had it been completed? Who gets what? Did we need to share the loss?
But I also remember the joy of gifts back then. I mean, I can still FEEL the smooth pages of my first official sticker book. Not a photo album converted - no - a REAL LIFE STICKER BOOK with different theme pages and the ability to peel on and off. The THRILL of a fuzzy pack of cute dinosaurs. The amazement over the new, high-tech inks (if you pushed on them they changed colours). Wearing out the ewwww dill pickle stratch'n'sniff.
And unicorns. Shiny baby unicorns. I still have two of those. And I still have my sticker book in my basement.
Wouldn't this post have been much better if I got a picture to include.
I'm at work.
But I really liked this entry on this site here.
Well, that's rather moot- I can't upload pics right now anyways. Stupid blogger.
posted by jenn at 8:57 a.m.
3 Comments:
When I was in school it was marbles and you played marbles (imagine that) to get someone else's. I guess there weren't stickers yet.
If you were cool, you kept your stickers in a purple "Crown Royal" type of bag.
Stickers would have been so much more fun. Even tho' those steelies were pretty cool. Perhaps I was a pioneer tho', I used to cut out comics and cool sayings and tape them to my folders.
Sometimes I feel so old....
I got conned into trading two of my cool felty, googly eyed stickers for a little basket with plain almonds. I burned with regret for years. I still get a little upset thinking about it, and the sad, empty space in my sticker book.
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