The Library

I had difficulty reading as a child. I, for the life of me could not focus on my textbooks and such things necessary for a child's education. Not that I couldn't read, because I could as early as age 4. But I hated reading. I couldn't finish a page without getting sleepy, or distracted, or both. My teachers were convinced I still couldn't properly read well into the third grade. Needless to say, my grades suffered consistently.

I was handed my first library card in the fourth grade. It was this cheap typewritten pro-forma card with the school logo, with my name, picture, section and grade level, and the word "Library" typed on the top part, the "y" almost touching the forehead of my black-and-white picture. Little did I know, it was a key to an unknown kingdom.

I loved the library because it was quiet. My classmates would whisper how it was haunted. They gossiped that because our school building was so old, and existed before the war, and was in the center of the local revolution, that so many soldiers and rebels met their demise within those walls, and may as well be buried under the school. Specifically the library. What a delicious thing to imagine! But of course there is an element truth in that as I would confirm later in my history studies. Not the haunted part, though.

I didn't enjoy the company of kids my age and I was convinced nobody liked me. I was painfully socially awkward. The ambiance inside the library had this strange medieval feel, thanks to the heavy hard bound books sitting among shelves like gargoyles. A huge dictionary when opened could measure the span of my two outstretched arms and I could wonder for hours who could write so many words and know their meanings like it was magic. In a way it was. Also I was fascinated with the huge old rotating globe.

I fell in love with a small set of story books. They were colorful, hardbound, hefty and encyclopedia-type. They were heavy with short stories meant for children. I would check them out one by one as I marveled at how my tiny library card started filling up with date stamps and our librarian’s signature. I spent many wonderful nights reading through those pages, imagining myself as one of the characters in many of the stories. I was in my 5th volume when, naïve as I was, showed my dad the book I was holding and proudly announced that I have been spending a lot of time at the library. My bad. That was a mistake. He frowned and asked me why all my grades are still so bad, and since I’m spending time reading, why wouldn’t I read books related to my lessons?

I stopped checking out books after that. I didn’t start studying better either. I would soon fall in love with books in the future, but that’s a story for another day.