Books, Books, Books
Growing up, books were a major source of entertainment in my family. After dinner, after washing and drying the dishes, everyone grabbed a book and got comfortable in a favorite spot in the living room. and we all read together, if separately. We had bedtime stories every night, reading to one another in twosies, and reading aloud whole essays from The Book of Knowledge just because they were so fascinating. Dictionaries were transformed into fun books, as well as explaining new terms, when our parents taught us a game we called “ferril.” I think this is now a copyrighted money making box of a game, but then it was just something the family played together. Rules: one person found an obscure word in the dictionary, wrote down a short definition, put it in a pile with a made up definition from each of the other players; each person guessed which was the correct definition and points were given for correct guesses and also for incorrect definitions that attracted votes from others.
Our family initially had very little money; we lived with my grandmother because my parents’ combined salaries were not enough to afford the mortgage on a house. We did not buy books. In my early years, I remember that each Saturday, we would go to the library which was about a mile and a half away from the house. Taking turns pulling our wagon, filled with the books we had taken out of the previous week, we would chatter about what books we would look for on the upcoming visit. Entering the library, we would be excited anew at the enormous number of books on display and shelved all around us. I am sure that my love of libraries and bookstores stems from these visits. Not only did the number of books astound, equally amazing was that all the books were available for us to take home. How could it be that such valuable assets could be borrowed without collateral of any sort? The universe must be kind and giving to provide such abundance without demanding even a penny in exchange.
As a Nana, I love taking my grandchildren to the library. Since I am also teaching them a bit of French, we speak in excited tones about going to the “biblioteque.” Clamoring through the door of our small neighborhood branch, Helen, age 4, carries her two books from the previous week, and places them onto the return cart. Next, she politely asks if she can please have the bucket of crayons kept behind the check out desk. Unable to hold back her energy, she rushes to the table which is supplied by a huge roller of brown paper which one pulls out to provide a coloring surface. And does she then begin to color? Oh no. She rushes about randomly tipping back colorful volumes, not all the way out, but enough to see if the picture on the front invites further inquiry. She settles on a few for us to read, and we snuggle into one of the oversized arm chairs, and read. She is now picking out words that start with H, “my letter,” and reads these words and many more, whenever they appear in books she has read so often they are now committed to memory.
After arranging the large brightly covered climbing cubes so that they are the perfect distance apart, she proceeds to jump from one to another and then jumps outsized kangaroo, giraffe, bear, or shark along the same boulder path.
Then it is time to color and color we do — all sorts of objects, self portraits, the many organs of the digestive system which is now the central focus of exploration for herself and her 6 year old brother, and flowers and apples, tractors and cement mixers, her consistent favorites.
Magically, unlike my own experiences of early years at the library, there is a fabulous machine that documents our loans. Helen who is determined to do everything she can by herself, carries a rather heavy stool over to the check out machine. She holds her hand out for her bar coded library card (which features the main characters from Where the Wild Things Are) and manipulates it so that the green go light comes on. She pokes in her Pin number, and proceeds to follow through to the Finish sign, puts the stool back in place and grabs and returns the bucket of crayons. “Thank you, Biblioteque” is her call over her shoulder as she moves towards the doors. I smile at the librarian who calls back to her, “Come back and see us soon!” Once into her seat, seatbelt fastened by herself, of course, she tells me. “Actually, Nana, we have to come back so we can return our books and get new ones, right?” Helen is a very wise four year old!
