I remember the day I got my first library card like some kids remember their first trip to Disney World.

A few days after my first day of school, my kindergarten teacher, Martha Shreve, suggested to my parents that my twin sister, Jasmine and I expand on the love for literature our mother had instilled in us since before we could talk. I remember begging my mom all the way home to take us to the library, a notion implanted by Mrs. Shreve during story time. It must have been pretty difficult to say no to two pleading voices eager to learn, because I remember very soon after bouncing up and down in the back seat of our old Cougar, ecstatically anticipating all the choices.

Walking into the Niles District Library (then the Niles Community Library) for the first time was intimidating. I laugh now to think about how tightly I held on to my mom’s hand, squeezing my twin’s hand with the other, as if we were entering on some secret territory that I could easily get lost in.

Years later, I learned that that feeling was even truer than I had thought.

A librarian named Dottie gave us a tour of the building, starting up the electronic train that traveled the children’s department, which was much smaller back then, but seemed enormous in our 5-year-old eyes. Dottie gave us each a bright orange library card with a red dot on the side and explained the rules of checking out books and overdue fines, and then she set us loose to make our selections.

For years after that first trip to the library, I remember begging my parents at least weekly to take us to the library, and each time we went we’d take out as many books as we could carry, and then rush off to read every page. I learned to love the written word so passionately, and I couldn’t wait to get home from school every day to shed my own skin and see the world through someone else’s eyes.

Looking back now on my childhood, it’s as if I lived two separate lives — one with friends and family in reality, and one within the pages of fairy tales and chapter books. I found fictional friends in Laura Ingalls and Anne Shirley and went on imaginary adventures through the land of Oz and Neverland.

As I grew older, I learned the power the words in these story books had on more important things in the world. I realized I had developed an intuitiveness from my passion for reading, and my teachers started pointing out other skills that my sister and I had that exceeded our peers. We were extremely analytical and imaginative, and our vocabularies were well-developed.

Just like music-lovers can’t help but blare their favorite songs, I’ve never been able to help sharing my favorite books. Ever since the first time I handed over that little orange card to be scanned, I’ve been talking about the characters and happenings of whatever book I’ve been reading to whomever would listen.

Twenty years later, I believe with conviction that every book opened opens 10 more doors, and once a person learns to read, there is no limit to how much his or her mind can grow. I’ve spent a good amount of my life sharing this passion — I was even given the opportunity to teach those less fortunate to read. For me, there is no better feeling than seeing the look in someone’s eyes when they realize the power of stringing letters and words together to create sentences with meaning.

As my favorite month of the year begins, I urge you to exchange an hour of Netflix or TV for an hour inside a book. If you haven’t taken your children to the library in awhile, set them free in the children’s section while you indulge in a new book for yourself.

I’m forever thankful to my parents and my kindergarten teacher for instilling this lifelong love almost two decades ago, and I hope that others can find the same escape.

 

Ambrosia Neldon is the managing editor at Leader Publications. She can be reached by phone at (269) 687-7713, or by email at ambrosia.neldon@leaderpub.com.