Bookworms

I love words. I'm the girl who would sit and read the cereal boxes at breakfast time, got in trouble for bringing a book to the dinner table, and followed along with the readings at mass before I knew what the words said. (I was destined to be a writer . . . or a nun. . . ) To this day, I almost obsessively compulsively consume EVERY word I see. I really thought everyone's brains worked this way until I met my husband who is neither literate nor observant. He doesn't notice any signs, billboards, license plates, announcements, etc. Meanwhile, the letters are flying at me, a mile a minute while I try to process EVERYTHING. (It does sound more than a bit strange now that I, ironically, write it out. . .)

I decided in sixth grade to be a writer. Mr. Brown wrote in my graduation card that he'd never seen talent like mine from another sixth grader. Maybe he wrote it in everyone's cards, but I still have it somewhere--never underestimate the power of a teacher's words! Of course, right before college I got scared that writing wouldn't pay the bills so I did the next best thing--I spent nine years teaching eighth graders HOW to write. I hope someone somewhere is keeping a note that I've forgotten I wrote. I LOVED teaching, but when it came time to consider a master's, I wondered if I should consider another option--just in case. It didn't take long to figure out my other love. In college I realized that while waiting tables WAS paying the bills, it probably wasn't doing much for my resume. So I worked at a public library. WOW. It was an obsessive-compulsive-word-consumer's dream! So here I am, now in my fifth year as a school librarian. In many ways, it's a lot like teaching. Little pay, lots of work, not much glory or glamour. But then a kid comes in and tells me the book I recommended was "UHHH-MAZING!" or kids are fighting to get to the coveted shelves of state award nominees or another kid who has moved on to the high school tells me he misses MY library. And I think: How is it that I'm getting PAID to do what I love?

And I'm proud to report that my love of words lives on in my girls. Forgive me for a moment because I'm going to be one of those moms. Sassy just started first grade and she's devouring Magic Treehouse books. She really took off this summer and I would catch her reading nonstop. It's been so fun to see her beg for bedtime so she can read “one more chapter.” She's read 17 books so far at school this year—and most are nonfiction that are right at a 4th grade reading level. I love the notes that her teacher writes across the reports: “Holy canoli!” “You've got to be kidding me!” “What? Saaaweeeet!” Several are on the fridge—again, the power of a teacher's words!

And Keke goes to bed each night with a huge stack which is great until I remember the morning of that our library books are due and I've got a flashlight and an arm shoved down between her bed and the wall looking for missing books. I'm almost certain that we returned one of those books with some birthday money left in it, but that's a different story. . . . At night after I've tucked them in, I hear Sassy reading her book out loud and Keke “reading” hers to all the toys in her bed.

I keep saying that “someday” I'll write that book I've always wanted to write. But for now it's pretty cool to share my love of books during the day with middle school kids. . . . and even better to share it with the two little people waiting each night on my couch.