Perhaps we can use this space to tell our stories about libraries and what they mean to us.
The public library in my hometown was, when I first visited at abot 6 six years old, in a little corner of the municipal building / fire house/ courthouse. (With a population of 5000, you can kind of put everything in one place.)
It had a distinctive smell, of course, of books. It’s a small I love to this day.
The librarian gave us all a little talk about how the library works. When she said we could actually take books home, I looked around in wonder at all the books and felt a sense of ownership. I blurted out, “You mean any of them? We can take them home?”
So then I had to find one…and there were lots of choices. That was the day I learned the pleasure of browsing book shelves…something that I continue to do today although its harder with progressive lenses.
I picked out a book, some children’s book about a cartoon character I liked, maybe bugs bunny. And I took it home and kept it by my side for a week, reading it over and over, until we took it back and got another one.
I probably would have been a reader if we had no public library. But going to the library the first time was a kind of ritual trip to a sacred place. In a world too devoid of sacred places and ritual, the library still serves that purpose. A first trip to the library is still a religous experience that confirms us as a member of the company of readers.