To understand where my love of libraries comes from, you have to understand my nightly bedtime ritual as a child. Since I was a toddler, the importance of literature was imparted to me by my parents. My dad’s mission was to read to me every night before bed. This was a tall order because I would set a sizable stack of picture books on my bedside table for him to read to me. Though my eyes would become heavy after listening to him read the third or fourth book, I wouldn’t fall asleep until the entire stack of books was read aloud. Even once the stack was complete, I always had another book in my arsenal that I pulled out from under my pillow while pleading, “Just one more book!”
To satisfy my fix for new reading material, each week, my mom and I would journey 25 minutes to the Oberlin Regional Library in Raleigh, North Carolina. We would spend all our time in the children’s section, each of us carefully combing through the options and each for different reasons. My mom was a preschool teacher, so she would cycle through different themes to teach each week. Sometimes, she would need books on sounds, colors, or friendship. Of course, I was not constrained to a lesson plan when choosing what books I wanted to read that week, but there were recurring themes. Fairy tales like Hansel and Gretel or Little Red Riding Hood always made it into my book stack. Picture books like The Kissing Hand by Audrey Penn, with beautiful artwork, also made the shelf. I’d also pick out holiday-themed books like The Little Old Lady Who Was Not Afraid of Anything by Linda Williams or Christmas Trolls by Jan Brett, whether they were in season or not.
When I outgrew picture books and bedtime stories, I still found myself going to the library. Indeed, I discovered new libraries. In 2009, when I was 10, the Leesville Community Library in Raleigh opened its doors to the public. Now, instead of having to drive 25 minutes to pick out books, I could ride my bike 10 minutes down the road. Often, I would find myself sitting outside on a bench in the small park beside the library, reading my new chapter books. I would sit outside for hours and read Junie B. Jones or The Magic Treehouse. When the days grew shorter and colder, I would sit inside on an armchair by the ceiling-length windows that faced the small forest behind the library. I could get lost in the sounds of the library-pages turning rhythmically, parents whispering stories to their children, and the clicking of computer keys as the librarian searched the catalog for a patron.
In high school, I would walk to the library after school to study or read. The library was a place where I could be alone without being alone. I stuck my nose in a book and dove head-first into the story. The shadow of reality loomed in the background while the warmth from a fictional character kept me company. This was how I spent many evenings.
But in February of 2015, the Leesville Community Library was set ablaze by a pair of ignorant kids who couldn’t comprehend the impact that it would have on the community. To them, it was just a bunch of stupid books. But to me and many others, it was a place of quiet contemplation and community. Those of us who wanted to escape reality went to the library. The Leesville Community Library, like several others in the Raleigh-Durham area, brought a new meaning to community. Mothers would bring their children to the library to pick out books just like my mom used to do for me. Piles of picture books that used to make their way to circulation were now piles of ash. My community’s grief was lost in the smoking literature. So seven months later, when the doors reopened to the public, my community’s excitement highlighted our library’s impact on the community.
Even years after the reconstruction of the library, I am still reminded of how that event impacted the community and myself. Although I am over 500 miles from my childhood library, if I want to be alone without being alone, I head to a local library and read a book.