Live. Love. Library.
I remember it like it was yesterday. There I was, just barely tall enough to see over the counter. My mom was next to me, slightly nervous. We had been practicing my letters at home, specifically my name, for some time now, and this task seemed to be the unit test to see if all of our hard work had paid off. The kind, 30-something lady slid the red plastic card and a pen toward me, and prompted me to sign what was most likely the first signature I would ever give on an official document that belonged to me and only me.
I drew a backwards "S" like it was nothing, and the capital "A" and I were best buds. But the "M..."oh that "M." How did you make everything connect in the middle? Every time someone showed me how to draw one, it all happened so fast. I knew I only had a minimal amount of time before my mom intervened, and I panicked. An upside down capital "U" and a stick in the middle is what I got down. I knew it was wrong but I gave the pen back with confidence-maybe if I pretended like I meant to write my name so poorly, they would see it as a stylistic choice and leave me alone.
It didn't work. My mom smiled sheepishly at the librarian and quickly wrote my full name out in her own perfect handwriting. I couldn't escape the mild embarrassment, but it didn't matter now. I finally had it.
My very own library card.
One of my most prized possessions-I'm not kidding.
I grew up in a reading household. I vividly remember my parents reading the early James Patterson novels (the ones that were all named after nursery rhymes, does anyone remember those?) and talking about them animatedly with each other. My dad taught me how to read using Calvin and Hobbes comics. We had a library of sorts in the house, and in a pre-Google society, my parents really wanted me to enjoy reading. Even if I was on time-out in my room, I could always read as much as I wanted.
I was also obsessed with the movie Matilda, and my little heart soared every time I watched the scene where she went to the library by herself, and the librarian told her she could take out as many books as she wanted. To me, a place where you could indulge in excess was absolute paradise. I mean think about it: when you're a kid, everything is measured out in tiny parts for you, no more, no less. 1 hour of TV/GameBoy a day. Three cookies for dessert. 1 big present at Christmastime. 15 minutes for recess. You never get to indulge.
But at the library? You could always go wild at the library.
"So Matilda's strong young mind continued to grow, nurtured by the voices of all those authors who had sent their books out into the world, like ships on the sea."-Roald Dahl, "Matilda"
Fast forward to the present day, and I'm stuck in my house due to the pandemic. I had just quit my job at a grocery store to pursue acting and playwriting full-time, and I had a small list of book recommendations for some research regarding a script I was working on. Plus, I wanted something that would give my eyes a break from all the screens I was looking at. The only problem was-I couldn't afford books. I couldn't afford anything because I no longer had income.
"If only there was some place that held all the books I could ever want or need," I thought to myself, "If only there was a...
...Library."
The first burst of joy I felt wasn't just finding the books I needed at the library. It's the fact that it was there at all. I had gone through high school and university without visiting my local library, but that didn't matter. As soon as I hit the homepage of the Kitchener Public Library's website, it welcomed me back, assured me that I could still rent books despite the pandemic, and proudly boasted its services. I felt like the prodigal daughter, returning after a long time away, realizing that this is where I truly belonged after all this time.
The second burst of joy that I discovered was the joy of holds. If you know me, you know this: I love ordering stuff. I love the tension, the yearning for something you know is on its way to you. I love wantonly checking tracking numbers and mailboxes like a concerned housewife waiting for her beloved to return from the war. And I love the feeling when you finally receive your stuff, and you hold it in your hands and stare at it, just loving the fact that it's here. It's a beautiful thing to let something make its way to you.
When I had disposable income, I would sometimes order the most inane junk I could find off of a Buzzfeed Shopping article just to experience the thrill of getting mail, but once I rediscovered the library, putting books on hold quickly became my new thrill. Now, it was all about waiting for my books to arrive. I even learned when the delivery trucks came in with inter-library trades so that I could anticipate going and picking up my books. It sounds obsessive, but we were in lockdown, and having something to look forward to in a day helped pass the time.
Re-discovering my love of reading has lit a new flame inside of me. When I was in university, reading was a chore. I was always being made to read journal articles that had been deemed good for me by somebody else. But once I realized that I was once again free to read whatever I wanted, I set my own curriculum. I would spend five minutes thinking about a topic I had always wanted to know more about, and then look up a book (or several) about it, and put it on hold for myself. I gained a deeper knowledge and appreciation for so many topics I had always wanted to learn more about, but never had the time to explore. Such topics included:
- The history of Saturday Night Live
- Drag, and the art of female impersonation
- Pullman Porters and the making of the Black middle class (for a script idea I have in the works, hehehe)
- embroidery
Just to name a few! I also joined a book club that one of my favourite Twitch streamers started, and have been getting all the books I need through the library. One of those books was "The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires" by Grady Hendrix, a new-ish horror writer who has been taking the literary world by storm with his excellent female protagonists. This was one of those beautiful occasions where you blindly borrow a book based solely on someone else's recommendation, and it completely changes how you see an entire genre. I have never been a big horror fan, but I am now on my third Grady Hendrix novel ("The Final Girl Support Group"), and I think I might be a changed woman.
How a white Southern male manages to comment on gender roles, racial disparities, and white privilege all without making my eyes roll, I'll never know.
My rediscovery of the library has reminded me of this very important point, outlined perfectly by Twitter user @_Amanda_Killian:
Beyond just a great resource for books, libraries are, I believe, the only place left in modern Western society where you can hang out without the pressure of needing to buy something. They're just there for you. Rediscovering my library, I learned that it had stepped its game up to provide for the community in so many other ways. There's a recording studio in my library. You can rent musical instruments and sports equipment. They frequently bring current authors and thinkers in for lectures, talks, and lessons where you can expand your knowledge and skill base-for free. Heck, the last time I was physically in my local library, there was an exhausted looking mom taking a nap in a chair while her kids walked around. A library is a safe space for communities to gather, rest, meet, plan, learn, or simply just be. There is truly nothing on this earth like a library.
So, if you're feeling a little low on hope for humanity, consider visiting your local library. Indulge in something you've always wanted to learn more about, pick up a new skill, or simply interact with and observe your community at work. You may just find yourself inspired.