Tonight I wrote this and wanted to share it, as there are so many wonderful book people here who will understand. -Kendra
For some reason children’s books make me quite melancholy. Sometimes I shed a tear, sometimes a flood. I can’t even pinpoint why but they just feel like these sweet, half-forgotten treasures that get left on shelves because they’ve been ‘outgrown’ and that breaks my heart.
If I see my little sister at the library looking through books I used to read when I was little, it’s even worse. Those stories were my life at one time, and now they’re just little plastic-cover-protected books on a shelf in some library. Does anyone ever still go to the library and see all of the colorful spines and think, “I’m gonna read EVERY ONE of these books”? Do people still sit and read books in the library on fall afternoons, after school? Does anyone ever turn 14 and realize they have read almost all of what their local library has to offer in the way of tween and teen books and go explore the adult books for the first time? Does anyone ever pull down a water-stained copy of a science fiction novel for the first time and feel your mind expanding along with the words, sending you over that dangerous edge from child to grown-up?
Does anyone ever crack open “A Wrinkle in Time” and just cry because Meg is still shy and sad, and you feel even more like her now that you’re all grown up, and the attic still isn’t safe and you still have a big adventure ahead of you, and you still don’t know if it will all be alright in the end?
Oh, books. Oh, libraries. The power of books should never be forgotten, because the stories we love as children are the breadcrumbs that lead us through life later.