Later, when I was old enough, I earned the right to have my
very own library card. I took great pride in the orange cardboard card with the
metal clip on the bottom. I’d watch with fascination as the librarian, with practiced efficiency, pulled the card out of the pocket from the front of the book, ran ink
over my library card imprinting my special number and deftly placed a due date
card back in the pocket. After, I'd rub my fingers over the bumpy metal and smudge the blue ink on my fingertips. When I grew up, I wanted to be a librarian.
My sticker job led me out of the young adult books and
into the realm of nonfiction, just around the corner. I don't remember the
picture on the stickers for this section, but I do remember picking up a book
about a young mom working diligently with her son who was autistic, loving
him towards an emotional and meaningful connection. I marveled at her love and devotion. Another book I picked up and read that summer was about a
teacher in a classroom of children with special education needs. I studied the jacket cover, a black and white photo of a lovely, young teacher surrounded by the grinning
faces of her students. I was inspired. I
wanted to work with children with special needs when I grew up.
That summer, the imagination and ideas contained in books gripped me in a whole new way. I learned
to love the musty, dusty smell of books, unique to libraries, and find solace
and comfort in the rows and stacks of books. Growing up, I was seldom without a
book, even earning reprimands from my mother for reading when we had company.
My educational experiences in college and grad school were
marked by long, quiet hours of studying. I discovered that two hours near my research material, a large wooden library desk to spread books out on and hushed
silence to be as productive as twice that time in any other setting. The atmosphere was still comforting, and the books still contained dreams and, now, the resources and information I needed to attain them.
In my mind, libraries are still one of the pillars of our culture. Our library in town is small but offers a plethora of community services and with their shelves
stocked full of books, they still offer a quiet respite surrounded by that musty, dusty smell, and our librarians are always helpful and friendly and know me by name.
Some things have changed. They scan barcodes now and use computers to check books out, and when I am searching a title or author, I no longer have to flip through long drawers of index cards; I can just look up what I need on the computer. But I still watch with admiration as a librarian restocks a shelf, checks in a stack of books or helps a patron with a search.
And just between you and me, I still dream of being a librarian when I grow up.
And just between you and me, I still dream of being a librarian when I grow up.
In honor of National Library Week, April 14-20 and with thanks to all the
faithful librarians (especially those at the Gunnison County Library)
who work for the love of the written word.
who work for the love of the written word.
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