You know what I love?
I love libraries. With their shelves upon shelves upon shelves of books I haven’t read yet, so many books on so many subjects that by the time I get them all read, there will be shelves upon shelves of new books at the ready.
I love libraries, with their librarians, who can sort out exactly what book my student is asking for when all he gives them to go on is “no driving, bird!” – and in his hands appears Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus, by Mo Willems.
I love libraries, with their meeting rooms, where some of my favorite kids come dashing in every Thursday, trailing chewed-up pen caps and loose leaf paper, ready to tackle a new type of poetry or weave another chapter about beloved characters.
I love libraries, with their classes on everything under the sun, from knitting to taxes to cooking to computers, offered free to anyone who wants to learn.
I love the library I grew up in – above the police station, hot and stuffy, where I read Nancy Drew and Danger on Panther Peek and every Dr. Seuss book there was – and I love the library I frequent now, with a WHOLE ENTIRE FLOOR DEVOTED TO CHILDREN’S BOOKS – so I can still read Nancy Drew and Danger on Panther Peek and every Dr. Seuss book there ever was – and also The Hunger Games and the Clementine books and Harry Potter.
I love that no matter where I live -- no matter how many times I pack up my own books and everything else I can carry into boxes and move to a new space that isn't yet familiar –- there is always a place in the nearest town that smells like books and feels like home.