If You Believe Book Bans Don’t Hurt Kids, Think Again

I found comfort in books that made me feel seen. Then, those stories were branded dangerous.

My childhood self reading a book. Photo taken by my parents and used with permission.

I was eight when I realized books were my safe space. Not like the classroom, where I sat on a plastic chair with my fingers clenched around a pencil I could never hold right. Not like gym class, where they made us throw balls, run laps, and everything I did was wrong.

No. Books didn’t care how I moved. Or that I asked too many questions. And they certainly didn’t judge me when I took a little bit longer than everyone else to read a sentence. So, for several years during my childhood, my safe space was the library, where there were hundreds of books.

One day, the librarian handed me a novel and said she thought I might like it. The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis. I vividly remember the cover. A lion looking directly at me, with the most beautiful mane I’ve ever seen. I took the book home and read it three times. Made me feel like I could be transported to another world, too. Somewhere, I didn’t have to explain why my body didn’t always match my brain. Then, when I got older and found out The Chronicles of Narnia was banned, I laughed.

Of course it was.