Odd feeling, discarding books that you remember being fascinated with when you were 5-6 years old. A few of the most precious I have kept. Also there are several really old children's books and cooking books that were inherited from my grandparents. They are something like 100 years old and I don't know whether they are worth much but you simply cannot just tip them off at a dump site, knowing they will likely be burned.
I also found my old writing books from when I attended English International School in Doha, Qatar. I see now that I kept several journals in class, "My writing book", "Qatar topic book", "My maths book" and one or two others. I wonder if they do this anymore. When I read them today I can feel and almost remember the enthusiasm that these things were made with. I also se the teacher's comments now and again, like "Your writing can be much neater than this". Good discipline there! I'm fairly certain Danish 6-year-olds don't get that kind of direct message nowadays. It's all wrapped up in "Could you be so good as to kindly try to improve your 'A's a little bit, if you have the time and motivation, of course, Sir?"
A nice passage in the back of "My Writing Book" tells a bit about my state of mind at that time. Both my Dad and I laughed out loudly when we read it:
Today is saturday 25th June 1983. I am laeving for the summer but I am not coming back to Qatar. First I am going to Greece and I think I am going to Denmarck after that and after that I don't know Where we are going.
We travelled a lot in those days...