Recently, while I was rummaging through the belongings I had left behind at my parents’ house, I stumbled upon my old library card. For a moment I wondered why I had left it with my most treasured items, which included birthday cards, photo booth pictures, movie stamps and handmade ornaments.
In one swift moment I was brought back to the exact day I got my very own library card. In that moment, it was the most amazing thing I owned, the most important item in my wallet.
I have my wonderful parents to thank for my love of literature. I can clearly recall the time my Dad told me that allowing myself time to read was the best gift I could give myself. And he was absolutely right. My parents have always had an amazing collection of books, shelves filled with colorful books all different shapes and sizes. I remember staring at those shelves, knowing that each was filled with different stories, and I knew that one day I wanted my own home library.
There is one book, that I still don’t own, but I rented it from the library over and over again. The Face on the Milk Carton by Caroline B. Cooney. It was my favorite book. I read the first chapters in the isle nearest to the audio books. I sat on the floor with my back against the large bookshelf, and I read. I was completely captivated. If my friend hadn’t interrupted so that we could leave, I probably would have sat there until I finished the entire book.
I also remember a time I went to the library with my Mom to rent multiple books on planets, space shuttles, and the universe. My Mom and I sat for hours building a project for my 6th grade Science class. This is one of my fondest memories of school. During the time we spent, reading, writing, preparing and practicing my presentation, my Mom really taught me how to write, how to express myself and how to captivate an audience with confidence and just enough humor. I got an A+ on that project, so good that my teacher asked me to present my project to the other 6th grade class. I was so proud.
No – I was over the moon.
Another important moment in my life, was the first time I really told myself that I wanted to be an artist. I went to the library and sat in one of the desks in the back, equipped with drawing pencils that my Grandpa had given me, and a book on Michelangelo’s artwork. I doodled in my sketch book for the entire afternoon.
These might only be a handful of memories, but all these memories, all these stories, they all began with a library card.
Let me know which books you’ve been loving lately!