I love the library. As a child I can remember my first trip as though it was yesterday. I noticed the smell right away. It was a combination of the book glue, the plastic title covers, the heat from the scan machine, and the ink from the due date stamps. I was mesmerized by all of it . Then my mom dropped me off in the children’s book section and I read my first copy of “Harold and the Purple Crayon”. I was truly in love! I read all the books I could reach from my chair, and when it was time to leave I checked out the maximum amount allotted to me. This process was repeated each week for as long as I was in school.
When my oldest brother started showing signs of the deep schizophrenic battles going on inside his head I would retreat to a quiet place in the house and read. Those books took me away from the yelling and turmoil of the reality that had become my home and into a world where a spoonful of sugar made the medicine go down with ease and a little song. Happy stories occurred anywhere and everywhere and often in rhyme.
Now as an adult I can see how my mind, my imagination, my determination, and my faith in what occurred in each plot twist, between each line, and within the author’s purpose gave me what I needed to see other worlds and galaxies where I found peace and the ability to cope. Never underestimate the power and healing of a good book!