
5 Books I Wish I Still Owned From My ’90s Childhood
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When your childhood involves two intercontinental moves within ten years, you lose a lot of small things in the process. There’s the Christmas tinsel you loved at 13 that you hung up in your closet from January to Thanksgiving cause it made you smile. There’s the silver boombox your parents gave you for your birthday when you were 12, which you used to make endless mixtapes and blare *NSYNC’s “No Strings Attached” for weeks on end. And then there were the books.
I used the library a lot as a kid, but my mother also made it a point to buy me children’s classics whenever she could, and on birthdays and holidays, any money I received would go directly to Waldenbooks or Barnes & Noble. I built my book collection carefully, combining my burgeoning interest in literature with my fascination with history and medicine. It was an eclectic set of books that I wish I could see today, now that I’m almost 30 and have the space and funds to keep the collection going. There are a couple titles that I do think about a lot, however, and that I wish I’d managed to hold on to during my moves.
These two books are listed in equal ranking because I spent a full year obsessing over both in equal amounts. I think I reread them alternately over that year, one each week, until I could recite the facts of their lives in my sleep.
YA books by POC authors weren’t super easy to find when I was a kid, and this was one of the few I picked up on a monthly trip to Barnes and Noble. I remember feeling an indelible sense of honesty in Woodson’s prose, and it helped push me into trying my own hand at writing love stories (they were super bad, don’t ask).