All my dreams came true on my sixth birthday. Which you might think is a little young to have all your dreams come true, but it was perfect for me.
I was, finally, old enough to apply for my very own library card. I had read Betsy and Tacy Go Downtown by Maud Hart Lovelace and I knew how important the library would be in a writer’s life. (Even at six, I was determined to be a writer.) Unlike Betsy, I had been to the library before and was quite familiar with the Children’s Room. Like Betsy, I wanted to read everything, not just the books that were “appropriate” for my age.
Our library was located in an old house only a few blocks from my home. I dressed carefully for the trip. Despite it being a Saturday, I wore my school uniform and shoes. My grandmother braided my hair into one long plait and tied a plaid ribbon on the tail. My grandfather gave me a dollar and hug. I tucked the dollar into my pocket. Kissed them both goodbye and set out.
I felt like skipping but being as uncoordinated at six as I am now, I walked carefully, avoiding every crack. My friend Barbara waved from her steps and asked where I was going. I told her the library and she just shook her head in disgust at the thought of reading when you didn’t have to read.
Reading was, and is, my favorite thing. I can not remember a time when I didn’t know how to read. I’m sure I didn’t come out of the womb reading – but maybe I did. I read everything. If there are words, I read them; cereal boxes, signs, posters, cards, and historical markers.
Bookstores are wonderful but libraries are better. Every book in the library is available and free. That always seems like a miracle to me. Thank you, Mr. Carnegie. Wherever I travel, I make the libraries one of my stops. I don’t care if there isn’t a single book written in English. Just the sight and smell of a library lifts my spirits and makes me happy.
I pushed open the door to the library that summer day and inhaled deeply. What I was to learn is the smell of paper, ink, book binding glue, with an under whiff of musty old books, filled my senses. I looked around. The Children’s Room was down a flight of stairs but I wasn’t going there today. I needed to find the librarian that would accept my dollar and give me a card of my own.
The foyer seemed to stretch forever. I tiptoed across the gleaming floor and stood in front of a desk. My chin just grazed the counter, but I caught the eye of a formidable woman. Her gray hair was piled on top of her head, and black-framed glasses perched on the end of her nose. They seemed to hang there from a golden chain. I was impressed. Her fingers paused over the keys of her typewriter. She looked me up and down. I quaked in my shoes and my hands trembled. I wanted to chew on the end of my braid, which was something I often did when anxious.
“May I help you?” she asked.
I managed to squeak, “Yes, please. I’d like a library card.”
She spun her chair to face me directly and her felt the full impact of her dark gaze. “How old are you, young lady?”
“Six, it’s my birthday.”
“And, are you able to read?”
“Yes, Mam.” I straightened my shoulders. “I can read anything.”
She tipped her head to the side and nodded. “We shall see about that.”
The woman, who I was soon to know as Mrs. Larsen, rose from her chair and came from behind the desk.
“Come with me.”
I followed. When an adult told you to do something you didn’t ask why, you did it.
Without glancing in my direction, she swept down the stairs, into the Children’s Room. We were headed for the picture books.
“Excuse me.” She hesitated. I screwed up my courage. “I’ve already read all of those.”
Now she turned and swept her eyes over me. “You’re rather short, aren’t you?”
Already that was one of pet peeves. I whispered under my breath, “And though she be but little, she is fierce.”
“What!” It wasn’t a question. “Say that aloud.”
“I’m sorry, Mam.” Now I was really stammering and I thought I might cry. “I didn’t mean to be rude. My grandfather says that to me and …”
“Do you know where it originated?”
I shook my head. “What does originated mean?”
“In this case, it means do you know who first wrote those words?”
Now I was back on solid ground. I looked up, a long way up, and smiled. “Yes, Mam. Mr. William Shakespeare wrote that.”
“Interesting.” She seemed to consider a long moment and then asked, “Young lady, what is it that you think you’d like to read?”
“Betsy wants to read the classics but I think I want to read a about real people. People that are still alive and then, maybe the classics.”
“And, who is Betsy?”
I gave her the lowdown on my reading of the Betsy-Tacy books and how much I loved them. She asked a few more questions about what I liked to read and then led me to Biographies and Autobiographies. After explaining the difference, she left me to find a book. “Come back to my desk when you are ready, and I’ll see that you get your library card.”
I found three books that day, the limit was two, but Mrs. Larsen allowed me to check out all three on my brand-new library card. She, and I, became first teacher and student and then friends. Until I left home, I spent almost every Saturday at that library. Mrs. Larsen helped me find, read, and understand a wide variety of literature.
I went through a phase when I thought I would become a librarian but instead I followed my original dream and became a writer. Now, when I see my books in a bookstore, I’m delighted. But when I see them in the library my heart truly sings with joy. They look just right on the library shelves.
