I don’t visit the library as often as I once did–work tends to prevent or postpone a lot of things we’d rather do, wouldn’t you say? This past Saturday, however, my son woke before the alarm he’d set and we headed to the library. (I must admit that it’s difficult for us to make it to the library on Saturdays because I want nothing more than to be lazy and drink coffee until noon on the weekends. So, since the library in our little town closes at noon on Saturday, I’m sure you can see where the problem lies.)
At any rate, we made it. My son is more of a gamer than a reader, so of course he dives straight into the computer station. My daughter loves books just as much as I do– and I’m giddy about it!– so I sit and watch as she scours the aisles full of colorful covers. I can’t help but wonder about the history of the stacks. How long have these books been shelved? When was the last time a reader checked the lonely looking volumes out? I imagine each book as an individual personality, each clambering for attention as my daughter passes, much like a lively farmer’s market where vendors exercise no shame in yelling about their meager offerings. If these books had arms, would they reach out and pluck at the fabric of her shirt? How would their voices sound if they could talk? Would the YA mystery novel call out in a cool, gravelly voice, accompanied by Psst and Hey, kid!? Would the fantasy novel release butterflies and fairy giggles while a sleeping dragon blinks awake in the background?
Meanwhile, my son is oblivious to the magic of books as he tap-tap-taps on the keyboard. I suppose he’s finding magic of his own in the gamer world, but I just can’t relate to that vision as easily. I’ve pushed books on him enough that he’s started coming around a bit, and I know that one day he’ll actually sit down to read a book by choice. I wonder with which voice that book will call out to him?