My poor kindergarten teacher surely couldn't have foreseen the chaos I would put her through when she had us read this. This is was first book I remember loathing. It's almost daybreak, I'm going to sleep now. Yeah, not your typical review, but just a thought on how one book can mean so much and so little to two very different girls. She's looking at me as the sheriff places her in ankle chains and tosses the book aside on his way out. I'm sure she's not imagining a whole alter reality for this capsman and his band of monkees. I cannot even imagine what this poor girl has seen in her short life, I can't begin to relate.I'm sure that there are no relatives willing to further her imagination on. Not a stitch of family around, obviously in distress, and I'm listening to her read Caps for Sale for the first time. Only this time I'm in the emergency room observing a 14 yr old alcoholic who's alone and in crisis and waiting for someone to help her. a lousy euphemism, perhaps?) steals his caps and refuse to give them back until he admits defeat and then they mimic him and he's able to fall on his knees and collect his wares. And when no one is buying, the bastards, he's so distraught he collapses from exhaustion only to find a band of monkees (hmmm. I took pity on this proletariat and his need to sell caps to support his family. Now, living through Reagan and Bush #41, I had a different take on the whole russian peddler. I hadn't read it in years and instantly the above memories came into play. Then, Carol, my one true college friend, (I was shy, okay?) gave me a copy.

then I'd strut around bellowing 'caps for sale!' 'caps for sale!' Some relative or stoned out friend of the family would take pity on me and flip me a nickel and soon the whole room would be wearing my creations. I usually wore skull caps, plastic visors, big floppy straw hats, the occasional beer helmet. Of course, we weren't much of a 'cap' family. let's just say, lots of drinking and bell bottoms and white men with afros, I'm sure hallucinogenics played some sort of role.

This was the 70s and my mom's friends were of a uh. I'd hunt down all the hats in our house and try to recreate the peddler's walk during one of my mom's work parties. That said, Caps for Sale was a favorite of mine when I was young. I've had this touch of nostalgia lately.so, tonight I came across this book and I thought 'What the hell, why not review it and subject the GR community to my musings'-Keep in mind that it's 4:13am and I've had a shitty night.

Esphyr slobodkina books