What I Miss about How I Read as a Child

Previously, I have written about how my reading habits have changed over the years. And, in many ways, my habits have changed for the better. I learned that I could read what I wanted without fear of judgment. And I learned that it is not actually the end of the world if I cannot get my hands on a book the day it is released. Sometimes wisdom, or at least a bit of perspective, really does come with maturity. Even so, however, there are aspects of my childhood reading that I miss.

When I was growing up, I had no knowledge of the publishing industry. I simply strolled through the library or, if I was lucky, the bookstore, and picked up whatever I found interesting. Reading the most recent releases did not matter to me, because I had no idea what was a new title or what was a backlist title. If it looked interesting, I read it! I never felt a need to read to keep up with the hype or to appear knowledgeable and trendy.

In fact, even though classics have become a controversial topic, with many educators and librarians claiming that such books ruin children’s love of reading and should never be assigned or recommended to young people, I gravitated towards these books. Classics were the basis of my of my regular reading, and the books that made me fall in love with reading. When I was about eight, Little Women became my favorite book. When I was around eleven, it was J. R. R. Tolkien‘s The Lord of the Rings. My middle school list of repeat reads included titles such as Howard Pyle’s The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood and John Knowles’ A Separate Peace. When I went to the public library, I searched for titles such as Andrew Lang’s Fairy Books, or Louisa May Alcott’s lesser-known works like An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving. I discovered the magic of interlibrary loan in high school, so I could ask for some of the more obscure titles I was interested in.

And I reread these books all the time, a practice I sometimes feel like I have no time for as an adult. Many times I had to reread books, of course, because I could not take myself to the library as a child, and so my access to new books was somewhat limited. But I also loved rereading. Each time felt like returning to an old friend. And, each time I would discover some new aspect of the book that I had missed before.

The slow-paced feeling of reading as a child is what I miss the most. When I look back, I remember sunny days spent reading outside, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Adult life contains many pressures, and I often find myself trying to squeeze in a few pages here and there, trying to read quickly so I can make some progress before I need to stop. I have also found that blogging has introduced me to the world of publishing and new releases, and I end up having to prevent myself from putting 50 library books on hold. And reminding myself that I can go back to an old favorite, or a classic. That I do not need to keep up with every new release because that is actually physically impossible.

I miss the feeling of not having anyone telling me what I needed to read. Just the anticipation of entering the library and seeing the rows and rows of shelves before me. And knowing that adventure awaited.