I called up a pre-school the other day. I was looking to book myself in for a reading of one of my books. “What do you charge?” asked the woman at the other end of the line.
“There’s no reading fee,” I answered. “I just want to be permitted to hand out slips of paper with the website where the book can be purchased if the kids can persuade their parents to buy the book for them.”
Does that sound like I’m reading for free? I’m not. I get the very best payment of all: hugs. Now, I’ll grant you I can’t pay the mortgage with hugs, but they’re still incomparable and irreplaceable.
I’ve become something of a fixture at the Greenacres after-school program by now, and when the kids see me come into the classroom, they yell, “Miss Cynthia!” and rush over to give me hugs.
I treasure those hugs!
But yesterday I read at another pre-school—not the one that had asked me what my charge was—and when I walked into the room, the kids were doing kid stuff and paid me little mind at first. I was just another grown-up in their midst. After I’d read the book to them, however, it was a different story. As I made my goodbyes, they almost all rushed me en masse, clamoring their thanks for reading them what one or two called a “great story!” and all of them were appreciative of, hugging the stuffing right out of me and nearly knocking me over in their enthusiasm. (Admittedly I have balance issues these days, but I challenge even a normally balanced person to withstand an onrush such as that.)
Arms and more arms encircled my waist and hips and legs—I’m not that tall, but the kids were young and very short—and while a few of the kids just gave a brief, shy squeeze, others clung on for dear life.
I could feel the love flowing through those tiny arms and hands.
OK, I’m a hug junkie. I revel in those moments of unadulterated joy brought about by little innocents expressing their feelings. They love my stories, so they love me. By the time their ages double, they’ll be too reserved and well behaved to rush an author and squeeze her like a python. Maybe that’s part of the reason that I prefer writing for, and reading to, the really little ones.
A free gig? A non-paying gig? Uh-UH! I get paid with the best currency at all. Hugs from the heart.