reading: a love story

I did not read from a sense of superiority, or advancement, or even learning. I read because I loved it more than any other activity on earth. —Anna Quindlen, How Reading Changed My Life

I was maybe nine years old. We had a relatively large public library downtown, and as homeschoolers, we’d often go during the day when no one was there. My mom had to keep her eyes on my sisters, one of whom was a toddler, so I was given free reign to explore the shelves. One day, I discovered books on the Holocaust in the juvenile nonfiction section. At this point I think I had read Number the Stars by Lois Lowry, and possibly The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom, so I knew that during World War II, Jewish people had been in danger and other people potentially got in trouble for trying to protect them. I flipped through one or two of the nonfiction books and saw a picture of an emaciated concentration camp survivor. I realized I had a lot to learn and began to make a stack.

I had my own library card, so…