A Library Love Story

As a child, I loved libraries. I loved the smell that rushed me as I pulled open the double doors at the top of the entrance stairway. I loved the hushed quiet with only muted whispers between book lovers. I loved the colours. Always seasonally decorated, I enjoyed oranges in autumn and pinks in spring. The book spines were a feast for my eyes with varied print sizes and multiple colours.

I loved being treated with respect. When I produced my Library Card, the librarian would smile with her eyes, acknowledging me as “one of ours”. I was only limited by the number of books my bicycle basket could carry. I did not need to justify my choices – they were all good. Everyone knew they were good, just because they were in the library.

I loved the cozy chairs I could crawl up into and get lost in comfort. I loved the round tables, perfect height for me, with chairs to share my discoveries with another “one-of-ours.”
I felt comfortable. I felt at home.

And I still do. I love the library. I feel especially called to the children’s section. I still love the inviting places to sit. I still love the fun colours. I still love the joy of discovery, of learning.
I want to be part of this world still. I want to “Peter Pan” my library past.

Today’s librarians may frown at a full-grown adult sprawled on her belly in the middle of the reading carpet, giggling at a picture book. But if I were the one who wrote that book, that would be another story right? And if I read that book to a group of children on that very same carpet, and we all sprawled together, and we all giggled together, that would then be okay, right?

I want to stretch out on the floor and laugh as I read. I want to share this joy with children. I want to create magical memories for them, just as my memories are kept alive with each visit to the library.

Can you relate?

Kimberley Payne
www.kimberleypayne.com