How I met (and fell in love with) books…

          My love affair with books began quite early. Some of my first and most vivid memories involve reading, being held as I listened to stories read aloud.  As the fifth of six children, I was read to by my parents and siblings, but I don’t recall favorite books, other than Little Golden Books, The Child’s World: Stories of Childhood (which I still have), and the big family Bible story book. 

Kindergarten was taught in her home two blocks from mine by Mrs. Doolittle, whose most memorable talent to me was being ambidextrous, a huge factor in my own ability to write left-handed without the awkward grip so many lefties have.  We learned together, played, and had homemade birthday cakes made by our teacher with pastel pink, green, or blue icing, the color choice up to the birthday boy or girl.  Every day, we walked across the street to the elementary school cafeteria to drink chocolate milk. 

I don’t remember learning to read or any favorite books from kindergarten.  But I do remember the very large (coat size) shiny green box I toted to school daily containing my most valued possessions, including an extremely large, heavy family Bible.  That’s the only thing I know was in the box.  Why a gift box instead of a book bag, you may wonder?  So do I.  And why a family Bible?  Who knows.  

 My first real recollection of learning to read comes from first grade.  My teacher, Mrs. Cook, taught us to read about Dick, Jane, and Sally from the huge, oversized reader in the front of the classroom.  As a reward, we were sometimes allowed to sit in the back of the classroom and read books when our work was done.  I have happy memories of sitting under the shelf containing verdant houseplants cascading down in shady green curtains.  Hidden away under this lush tent of fern fronds and trailing vines, my best friend Anna and I would become lost in the books and stories we read.  We loved being in this secret world where we felt both safe and daring at the same time, sharing our newfound reading skill and exciting literary adventures. 

As I grew older, my reading experiences increased and expanded.  The library in our little town became a favorite destination.  Housed in the building with city hall, it was rather small by modern standards.  Sometimes my mother would take my brother and me, or I would walk or ride my bike the few blocks from our home and spend hours curled up in a corner reading, scanning the shelves for the next book I wanted to read.  The librarian, Mrs. Cole, did not seem to mind my long visits and exhibited remarkable forbearance with my library habits.  I once checked out a biography of Mozart for weeks on end simply because I thought it looked good propped on my bed for passersby (my family) to see through the open doorway.  The book cover matched my room décor perfectly! I am happy to say that since then, I have never chosen books to read based on their color scheme or decorating potential.

In college, my roommate and I often swapped paperback romances.   I almost always read a book to completion, and I seldom re-read books.  Once I know how it ends, it has lost its mysterious attraction.  But my roommate selected books by first reading the ending.  If it seemed good, she would read the book.  If not, she didn't read it.  To me, this was sacrilege! 

From my earliest memories, books and reading have been a big part of my life.  My professions, first as an English teacher and then working in libraries, have been closely related to my passion for literature and reading.  And the adventure continues…..