January 28, 2014
12:12 a.m.


I am an avid reader. I love to read. I started reading on my own at about the age of three, because I loved curling up with my mother to read a story, but sometimes she tried skipping over things or changing the words. Unacceptable. So I started reading to her. I'm sure it started out as memorization, and I do remember looking at pictures and making up my own stories, but I'd been reading on my own for quite a long time before I started school.

Once I did start school, I was a bit ahead of classmates, and it got me into trouble because I'd finish my work and then want to chat up whoever was sitting nearby. I got moved around a lot, but there wasn't anyone I wouldn't talk to. Finally the teachers wised up and sent me off to the school library when I finished my work so the other students could finish theirs.

The school library was great, and of course the librarian was my buddy. The first book I checked out from there was "Old Yeller." The librarian asked my teacher first, because it should have been a few years above a first grader's reading level, but the teacher told her I'd have no problem with it.

Well, I had no problem with the reading, but--oh my God--I sure had a problem with the story. That was the first book I'd ever read that made me cry. I'm not talking a couple of tears and a sniffle or two, either. I mean heaving sobs and a desire to quit before reading the end. Lord, lord, my poor mother. She sat with me so we could read to the end, and later she complained to my father about the serious lack of judgement on the part of my teacher and the librarian in giving me such a tough book to read.

Well, that scared me. What if she went to my school and said something? Would I be banned from the library? Would I have to stay in the classroom and sit at the teacher's desk reading the so-called adventures of Dick, Jane and Sally? Heaven forbid!

"Please don't say anything, Mama," I begged. "I'll try to choose happier books from now on!"

Of course, my mother would never deny me my reading rights. She promised not to raise a fuss and assured me that this would not be the last time I read a story that would bring me to tears, so I'd better get used to it. My father just chuckled and said, "That's great advise; how's that working for you, Mama?"

Not long afterward, I discovered the Public Library.

As members of the Catholic Church, I'd been enrolled in weekly Catechism classes. After school, a few of my classmates and I would walk from our school to the building where those classes took place. We'd study our lessens with the Sisters for an hour and then walk home.

On one fall afternoon one of my classmates told me she had to return a library book before walking home and asked if I'd like to go with her. I asked why she hadn't done it before we left school, and she informed me that it hadn't come from the school library, it had come from the real library.

Well, I certainly wasn't going to pass up a chance to go to a real library, so after class we walked to the corner,  crossed the street and marched up the stairs of the first real library I'd ever been in.

Oh, it was heaven! Books everywhere, shelves and shelves of them! We'd entered the upstairs level, which was adult books, and my friend led me to the staircase that took us down to the Children's Library. The walls were covered with brightly covered posters, and again there were shelves and shelves of books. Only these shelves were shorter, more accessible to the little people who wanted to reach them.

I was ecstatic. My friend returned her book, quickly chose another and checked it out. I wandered here and there, drinking everything in.  My friend told me she had to leave, and I told her I'd see her later, and just kept looking, pulling out a book here, and a book there. I'd only been allowed to check out one book at a time at school, and if it was the same here, I wanted to be sure I got something good.

The librarian came over and remarked that she didn't remember seeing me there before.

No, I agreed, this was my first time.

She told me I would have to get a library card in order to check out any books.

I had a little change in my pocket and fearfully asked how much it would cost.

She looked surprised and then laughed merrily. "It doesn't cost a thing!" She explained that the only time I would have to pay for anything at the library was if I returned my books late. Then I'd have to pay a "fine". And if I lost or destroyed a book, of course I would have to pay to replace it. "But I have a feeling you're very responsible, aren't you?"

I assured her that I was. I wasn't sure my mother would agree, but anything to get those books. With the librarian's help I filled out a form and was issued my library card. I'd never felt so grown up! Then she informed me that I could check out two books and could have two weeks to read them before they had to be returned. I chose "Bambi" and "Peter Pan". Not the Disney versions, but the actual books. I checked them out and signed my name on the cards. She stamped the return dates on the cards on the inside front covers, and I skipped up the stairs holding my treasures and headed for home.

About halfway there I looked up and saw my mother marching toward me. She was scared to death--and mad as hell as a result--but I was so happy I completely missed the look on her face. "Mama, Mama, look!"
I yelled, racing to meet her. "I went to the real library, and got my own library card, and look, look! I got to take out two books, Mom, and I'll read them to Melanie and--what?" It had finally occurred to me that she was giving me a very strange look.

"I've been looking for you for an hour," she growled through gritted teeth.

"But--but I--an hour?" Wow. That went fast. "Mama, I'm sorry, I--"

"Never mind." My mother took my books, hugged me, then shook me a little. "Don't you ever scare me like that again!" She thrust my books back into my arms and we headed home. She was quiet for a few minutes, then asked me to tell her all about the library. I understood that I wasn't going to get into trouble--this time-- and made sure in the future to always remind her that I'd be going to the library after Catechism class. It became a ritual that lasted through all my school years.

As a child I knew that I had scared my mother badly that day--my father, too, as it turned out--but until I became a parent, I never fully understood the depth of that fear. So tonight I'd like to say: I really am sorry I scared you, Mom and Dad.

The magic of the library still lives in me today. I can easily enter and spend and hour or so just searching to find the perfect story to live in for the next couple of days. And I can honestly say that there were times in my life when books have literally saved me. But stories of those times will have to wait for another day.

For now, I think I'll crawl in bed with my latest story--I've only got a few pages before the series ends--and hope that later sleep may find me for a while.

Good night.