Libraries, Finding Love Among the Stacks

I remember the first time I walked into a library. My older sisters needed to do some research for a paper and since they were babysitting me, I went too. I was maybe six or seven. They dumped me in the kids section, and I fell in love. I still remember the first book I ever read all by myself—Harry the Dirty Dog by Gene Zion. That book introduced me to what would become my obsession with books.

I began to beg to be taken to the library. When most kids wanted to go outside and play, I wanted to spend my time sitting among the stacks. My mom indulged my obsession by dropping me off and letting me stay there all day. Yes, now days she would be arrested for abandonment but then it was fine.  I would sit for hours just looking at the different books. I loved to walk by the shelves and run my fingers over the spines. Now I am sounding like a perv. Oh, wait I am a Righteous Pervert. So I guess it is okay.

Our library was old so it had lots and lots of leather bound books. I think that is where my love of leather started. Oops, another pervy moment. I found people and places that were so different and strange to me. I lived in small town America. I had never heard of the great writers. I found them all on my own. I would go through the stacks and just pick random books that caught my attention and start to read. Sometimes I would finish it but others I just put it back.

As I got older my reading became a way to escape what was the reality of my boring life. I was painfully shy so books became my friends. I would see something on one of the three channels we used to get with the big antenna and my curiosity would run wild. The next day would find me at the library looking through encyclopedias and any other books I could find. I am not sure I ever spoke to anyone. I just would go in and look till I found what I wanted.

I think I freaked the librarians out because I was the most well behaved child there. I used to shush everyone. This also set my OCD with the care of my books in motion.  On the plus side, I stayed skinny because you couldn’t eat in the library.  Even now, I freak out when people at the bookstores get food and eat while reading. I might get something to drink, but I make sure it has a screw on cap so that if it gets knocked over, the books will not be harmed.

I can remember when I was even younger and was convalescing at my grandmother’s house, her sitting all day reading her multitude of Barbara Cartland books. I had no idea what they were about, but I knew that she loved them. I would see her with other books as well, but those were her absolute favorites. She had every one of them. When I was about twelve or thirteen I decided to look up Barbara Cartland. Wow, was I shocked. I had no idea that there were books out there like that. I saw all the Harlequins and would sneak them to my favorite snuggle spot and sit and read them. That began my affair with romance. I skipped all the classics and went straight for the good stuff.

It was not all fun and games. I was embarrassed by my reading skill. I was in sixth grade the first time it happened. At the end of fifth grade, we had to take placement tests. My first day of sixth grade, I looked up and saw my brother and several of his friends coming into my classroom. I thought I had the wrong room, but I checked my schedule, and I was in the right class. I was praying that he was in the wrong room. The teacher took role call and yep, there were two of us in the same class. She asked me to go to the guidance counselor’s office and wait. I had to make that long walk from the back of the class to the door, which for a shy kid is torture.  I sat there and waited. They came in and said they thought there was a problem with the test so I had to take it again. I took the test and scored higher and was sent back to the same class. Yep, I was in sixth grade reading at an eighth grade level. I found out later that I should have been in a freshman class, but they thought it was too far of a jump for me. I then spent even more time in the library—to escape the teasing of being too smart.

As I got older, I found other things to do as well, but every Saturday found me in the library doing research on something I saw that interested me. Most Sundays everyone in my small town was at church, but I was walking to the library to wait for it to open at one pm on the dot. I would spend as much time as I could there. Most days it would be me and the two librarians. They were not allowed to let anyone under eighteen check out the romance books so I had to stay there and read them. My sisters now had jobs and yep, they loved the romance books too. So I would wait till they were asleep then I would snag their books and use a flashlight to read them. I would be up all night reading and then just shower and head off to school with no sleep. It was my way of dealing with life.

I find now that most kids have never known the joys of the library. I am sad for them. They have no idea the wonderful experience of picking up a book, peeling back the cover and finding adventure and love from a different time and place right there at their fingertips. I hope that I have helped educate my nieces and nephews about the joys of libraries and books. If not, then I feel that I have somewhat failed in my job of being an aunt.

When did you fall in love with books? Was your affair with books started by your parents or were you like me and found love among the stacks?