It's 1973. I'm eight years old. The nerdiness has already set in. I'm a voracious reader. I'm very big into books about submarines, World War II, airplanes, World War II, and Abraham Lincoln. Probably in that order. One summer, my parents took me and my siblings (all four of them) to the Indiana State Fair. I remember wandering around the fair with my Mom's hand firmly clasped in mine. We wandered up to a large table stacked with all kinds of second-hand books. The man working the table was very nice. He asked my Mom if I read. Her response was something along the lines of, "Oh, yes. He reads constantly." I was already pawing through the books on the table. At one point, he reached over, picked up a small, short book. It had a red cover and was a collection of humorous letters sent to the Beatles. It's title was something like, "Hey, John, Paul, Ringo, & George: Can I have a lock of your hair?" Something like that. He then said I could have it. Free. It was mine to take home.
I know that book is still around somewhere. I know I read it many times. Frankly, I read it at least once before I left the fair. My parents, at one point, wanted to watch one of the livestock shows. So, I sat with them and read that book. If I hadn't had that book, I'd still love to read. My parents really encouraged it. Growing up, my bedroom had a medium sized walk-in closet with shelves ringing the top 3 feet. And each shelf was cram-packed with old books. I learned of astronomy, physics, history, calendars, on and on, thanks to that closet of books. And for that, I thank my parents. That, and much, much more.
Still, this stranger added to my love of reading just a bit more. That love has stayed with me. Part of the reason I love to read blogs. I just love reading. And he showed me that a simple act of kindness can have a long-term affect.
That day at the Fair, before we left that stranger's table, my Mom (being a Mom and in her best Mom voice) said, "Say 'Thank you.'" I know I did. Otherwise, I would not have lived through that day. But that was a thank you of an eight year old under penalty of getting a whoopin'. So, here, now, and with Mother safely many hundreds of miles away, I think it befitting that I say,
Thank you.
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You know, somewhere there are a couple of elderly English teachers smiling to themselves over this. Or they would be if they managed to trip over the young engineer’s comments.
Myself, I was largely self-taught in the reading arena albeit well coached by a better than average lot of teachers. Later finding cases of my dad’s books in the attic was a great find and piqued the mind of a barely socialized adolescent.
Of later note was the mandatory speed reading course for all students of the decaying white ghetto’s independent school district.
Although not setting any records, I could blaze away at most respectable four to six thousand words per minute. Quite a handy feat come time for the various English Lit courses but not, worth. a. damn. in technical courses I took some years later.
Still, being able to zip though a novel at near real time let me bide away the hours while burning my butt on a runway waiting to go to some less than developed nation and generally kept me sane during periods of enforced boredom while a useless son made comfortable.
All of this comes to the same end as the young engineer states. I don’t think I have relinquished a single one of those books, paperback or hard cover, in the last 20 years. Last week I had the dubious pleasure of moving them 300 something miles to another storage location. Had it not been for my infant brother’s assistance and that of a colleague’s two college aged sons, I think I would still be loading.
Well, the box count is more than fingers and toes allow but there are but six left in my dismal apartment and though some might have disagreed, I can prove I am a vertebrate because the pain arrows exuding from my back are nigh visible in daylight.
Reading, try it you might like it.
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