Before my father died he read poems and stories to me on a regular basis. He spent his evenings at home reading for hours. On weekends he took me to bookstores where he always added one more volume to his growing literary collection. On vacation trips he stopped at bookstores whenever he saw one. I cut my teeth on books so it is no accident that reading them has been central to my entire life. 

I remember when I got my first library card. It was an exciting moment given that I was able to check out more than one tome at a time. Even though I would have been able to keep the books for two weeks I tended to devour my choices almost immediately so that I would be able to return for more in only a week. 

One of my fondest memories is riding my bicycle across a bridge that linked my neighborhood with Garden Villas where a bookmobile showed up once a week. The librarian and I became good friends mostly because there weren’t that many people who visited as regularly as I did. Once I had gone through many of the titles in the gigantic van the sweet lady who brought me so much joy would ask me what I would like see the next time I came. It was so much like owning a treasured and unlimited number of books without having to pay for them. 

I can still see the tiny library on wheels and the woman who brought a world of knowledge to my backdoor. It was quiet and cool inside even on the hottest days of summer. She was like iconic to me with her glasses and the graying hair the she wore in a bun. It seemed to please her that I was so excited about reading. 

I was also able to check out books at my school library and it was there that I also met a wonderful woman who catered to my excitement about discovering new authors and genres that kept me feeling adventurous. Eventually she moved from the elementary school to the high school that I attended. When I saw her there I knew that I was going to enjoy the four years of my last youthful moments.

A library card is as good as a ticket to an exotic place. I had a passport to knowledge that I otherwise would not have discovered. Even though my physical world was still quite limited, the world of my mind was constantly expanding. My reading became especially enjoyable when my high school English teacher provided us with lists of some of the best books ever written. I became addicted to poetry, fiction and nonfiction from classical to modern day authors. 

I still prefer the feel of an old time book over the concept of finding new stories online. There is something spiritual about holding a volume in my hands and wondering who else had found wisdom and happiness in turning the pages in search of new ideas. 

I have followed in my father’s footsteps. If I see a bookstore on my travels I must enter and usually walk out with a new volume to store in my home. Once in a blue moon I cull my stock of reading, but it is always difficult to say goodbye to a book that kept me entertained or privy to learning that I had never before occurred to me. If I am ever to be accused of being a hoarder it will be because of my books. 

To this very day I find comfort just in being around books. I enjoy talking about them with others and comparing my impressions with theirs. I get excited about learning something that I never knew before. I gobble up historical tracts that tell the stories of people who have come before me. I like encountering new words and ideas. I am open to almost every kind of genre as long as the writing advances me to new places and points of view. 

I am so enamored of reading that I find it strange that some people never take the time to pick up a newspaper or magazine or a modern or classic book. How can we have so much knowledge at our fingertips and not be eager to embrace it?

One of my favorite Twilight Zone episodes is the story of a man who enjoyed reading as much as I do. Suddenly there was destruction of most of the world and its people but he was content because all he really needed was a continuous stock of books to keep him company. Sadly in an unexpected accident his spectacles were ruined. The story ended with him sobbing because he was no longer able to see. There he was surrounded by a library worthy of Alexandria with no way of making the lines and markings on the page clear enough to focus his eyes. He was doomed to be alone for the rest of his life. No more would the books keep him company as he had hoped. Somehow I viscerally felt his pain.

Those of us who have known the pure joy of reading a good book cannot imagine a time in which we would no longer be able to read. Losing our citizenship in the world of knowledge that books provide would be an unbearable devastation. Thank goodness the resources that I crave are all still available. I plan to keep reading and learning hopefully for all of my days.