“The Library Was My Compass.”

The relationship started early. Seven years old. The age of reason. My own library card.

Admission to a wonderland of delights, albeit through an age-segregated side entrance to the basement children’s room.

Little did I know the marvels ahead, the adventures and thrills, the journeys into exotic worlds, real and imagined.

Places where animals talked and often seemed wiser than people, where children outwitted adults, and imagination had no limits.

Dreams of future glory came easily then. All paths felt open, all achievements possible.

There were Saturday morning story hours too, attended under my mother’s insistence. We complained, as children do, since none of our friends went. But secretly, we enjoyed them, especially the puppet shows.

The library was the great equalizer. A boy from a poor family had the same access as anyone else. In our community, that mattered.

The years moved quickly. A book a day was normal. A flashlight under the blanket made night reading possible while the house slept.

High school brought the upstairs library, and with it a quiet sense of pride. The building itself felt grand, the most distinguished place in a small city.

Term papers meant long hours there. Research, for me, was the best part. Librarians were always ready to help, and often seemed glad to do so.

Even at university, I returned often. It was a steady place, an anchor in uncertain years.

As an adult, I came looking for escape mysteries, fantasies, stories that eased stress. Later, I came searching for books to read aloud, first to children, then grandchildren.

One thread stayed constant through all these years: kind and helpful librarians.

Even through the pandemic, the service continued. Books ordered online, picked up at a table outside, quietly and reliably.

When connection mattered most, the library was still there.

Faithful. Patient. Familiar. Often with a smile, sometimes remembering my name.

That is why I still prefer books over television or screens. Books engage more of me. They leave space for imagination. And they get me out of the house.

A quiet thank you to all the librarians who made growing up a little gentler, and growing old less lonely. Thank you for reading….🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹