Mrs. Sherman was the librarian in my elementary school. She took her job and her library very seriously. I can remember her instilling in us as kindergarteners that books had feelings and that we should treat them well, not write in them and keep them dry and safe. If you neglected to follow one of these rules, she warned shaking her index finger, we would hear them cry in pain.
Fast forward to a fall afternoon. I'm in first grade. I am carrying my Strawberry Shortcake lunch box whose handle had broken off earlier in the day. On top of that I have balanced the two library books I had carefully selected during our weekly visit to Mrs. Sherman's sanctuary.
It had been raining for several days and though the rain had stopped, puddles still dotted the sidewalks. As I hurried to the bus home, my carefully constructed pile began to tilt. With horror I watched as one of my library books slid from the pile.
In slow motion, the book flipped end over end. I imagined all the possible outcomes - landing in a puddle, pages folded or torn, the loud cry that would be emitted when it finally reached the ground. By some miracle the book managed to land softly, standing on its long edges.
As I bent down to retrieve the book, I was relieved to hear only silence.
What began as a little bit of fear has become a deeply ingrained appreciation for books. To this day I hate to make marks in books and I always use a bookmark. And for this, I thank Mrs. Sherman.
No comments:
Post a Comment