I have always loved reading.  When I was very young, I remember going to the public library over the summer.  I’d get lost in the books and spend hours selecting which I wanted to read. The Edwards Public Library in Henrietta, Texas was approximately 10-12 blocks from my house.  A few times my mother allowed me to walk to the library if my older sister was willing to accompany me.  Most of the time, my mother drove us to the library because she loved books and reading as much as we did.  I signed up for the book worm reading club each summer.  Reading one hundred books over the summer would earn us a small orange striped pin in the shape of a worm. I pinned that worm proudly to my t-shirt when the librarian handed it to me. I doubt if I ever wore it again but I was so proud of earning it.  Reading one hundred books was not a chore for me and I would have easily read them over the summer without any incentive.


One book I remember checking out from the library was The Bully of Barkham Street by Mary Stolz.  I don’t remember much about the context of the book although I remember I enjoyed it when I read it.  I vividly remember the book because it was one of those hundred books I read that summer when I was eight years old and because of the letter that came in the mail afterward.

I finished my reading list and received my coveted book pin. About a week later my mother received a letter in the mail.   The librarian said I had never returned The Bully of Barkham Street.  I was devastated!  I treasured books then as I do now.  I couldn’t imagine being so careless.  I assured my mother they had made a mistake, but she still had to pay for the book. I had never owned a book before and I hated to pay for one I didn’t get to keep.  With five children and a one income family it wasn’t in the budget for my parents to pay for the book.  However, my mother paid for the book and never made me feel bad about it.

A few months later I went out to my favorite reading hide out.  My grandfather had built a handmade camper shell to fit in the back of his 1950ish pickup.  When it was off the truck, I monopolized it for reading.  It was private, comfy and quiet.  I stretched out on the cushions that served as one of the beds and felt a lump under the cushion.  Yep! The Bully of Barkham Street was wedged under the cushions.  It was a bit warped.  It had been sat on and moisture in the air had made it’s way into the camper shell damaging the pages.

I debated throwing it away without telling my mother, but I just couldn’t do it.  I carried it in and showed my mom.  She just shook her head and sighed as she handed it back to me saying, “Well, it’s your’s now.”  Dejected, I carried it to my room.  I’m not sure what happened to that book, but I’m pretty sure I never returned a library book late again.

The first new book I ever owned was a Bobbsey Twins hardcover.  I have no idea which one, because I eventually read them all.  I was in the hospital for about a week and my Aunt Carol came to visit.  She brought me a pair of pajamas with orange fish on them and two Bobbsey Twin books.  My dad bought me a pair of pajamas with Cowboys and Indians on them trimmed in red rick rack.  Yes, those are very vivid memories for me even years later.

Being the middle child of five, I felt spoiled and very special!  My brother and sisters stood outside my window and we both cried.  We had never been separated before.
I think the two incidents above cemented my love of reading and book ownership.  I have a hard time giving up a book once I purchase it.  At last count my book collection was well over 1500 and growing.  I routinely decide to downsize my collection and cull a few books, but before I know it, they are replaced and more are added.
When I retire, I’ll stick to my plan to downsize but for now…. I think I’ll go read a good book.