Post #2105364

As soon as I could write my name, my parents took me to get my own library card. The library was magical to me, the smell, the focus of so many people individually studying, the variety of things I could learn, running my fingertips across titles in my walk down the aisles, taking all of my choices to the seats by the very large window to read--filtered yellow and green light from large maple trees beyond. A happy stack of books to the librarian, who sometimes praised my choices or made new suggestions. Every week, sometimes more often if I needed to find something specific for school. At home we read storybooks and chapter books-- bunnicula was one of favorites. There is something so thrilling about reading out loud or being read to and hearing the character voices and the excitement of the reader. Reading aloud also slowed my brain down to experience what the author was writing, rather than just scan and absorb the meaning. Even during family visits, books were the entertainment. My grandparents had upstairs and downstairs books, and the ones that gravitated in stacks to the stairs. My grandpa collected National Geographics, their yellow spines lined a living room. My grandmother was an intense reader, she had bookstand in the kitchen, so that she could read while cooking, a television also on, it helped her think, she said. Gifts were often books, some fresh from print, others as treasure passed on. When my kids were very young I began really collecting books. I had learned well through reading and I wanted them to have the same access to learn how to learn. Books weren't just delivering knowledge on a subject, they weaved worlds together, stacking information and relational context to build connections across many subjects. Reading out loud gave us a chance to practice diction and style, to pause and ask questions for clarification or to launch on a tangent of inter connected thoughts. At home we could practice our knowledge playfully. Many blanket forts were built in the name of cozy reading time, and sometimes, sometimes a sweet surprise nap would occur. When they were young teens, the library was the one place with enough computers for all of them to work independently. During this time we were at the library every week day. We would arrive and they would scatter in four directions, dispersing into aisles they knew very well. Now that they are adults, the library still serves as their third space, a place to safely breathe and be, a portal of peace. I read less book books now then I did since getting my first smart phone, but there is still a stack by the bed. I read a lot of articles on a screen, but I just can't bring myself to read a full book from a screen, it feels like a foreign strain against my natural way.