This afternoon I decided to visit the high school library at the school (The Study) I’m teaching at. Although not hugely impressive, it does have a decent collection of non-fiction and fiction. Browsing through the shelves of YA Fiction unlocked a door of memories of when I used to have my nose in a book almost perpetually. There were times I even went to school on holidays so that I could spend them uninterrupted in the library. (Luckily for me, the school held workshops for its teachers on holidays, and I was able to make myself cozy among a stack of books).
The school I studied in was very particular about the literature it allowed in its library. And it was an excellent library. Unfortunately for me, they did not stock The Sweet Valley Twins series or The Babysitters Club series. I had to read those at the Bangalore Club when we visited our cousins.
The high school library at The Study, however, has quite a few books from both The Sweet Valley Twins and The Babysitters Club series. It made me wonder if perhaps I could enjoy them once more the way I used to. The reply to that was nearly immediate – most definitely not. I marveled at how I could turn up my nose at something I once used to find pleasure in. It’s strange that I wouldn’t consider reading those books again but that my eyes light up when I see books by Judy Blume, Roald Dahl, Frances Hodgson Burnett, and then some more. How have I been able to outgrow certain books, but not others?
This afternoon, the books that I decided to bring home with me were Henry Reed, Inc. by Keith Robertson and Betsey Brown by Ntozake Shange. The first paragraph of Henry Reed, Inc. made me decide that I would have to complete this book first.
Sunday morning, June 23rd
My name is Henry Harris Reed and this is my journal. It is my private property and in case that it gets lost, please return it to me in care of my uncle, Mr. J. Alfred Harris, RD 1, Grover’s Corner, Princeton, N.J.
This is a journal, not a diary. Diaries are kept by girls and tell all about their dates and what they think of their different boy friends. My mother says that men keep diaries too, that the most famous diary in the world was kept a long time ago by an Englishman named Pepys. That may be so, but when I read about pirates and explorers and sea captains they always keep journals, so this is going to be a journal. It is going to be a record of what happens to me this summer in New Jersey. (pg. 7)
It made me shake my head and smile because it reminded me of myself at that age, and how important it was that people knew I kept a journal and not a diary. Of course I did write about boys, and even used code (precautions to be taken when one has a younger brother). But the reason I insisted it was a journal and not a diary was because
1) The words ‘journal’ sounded more official and grown up.
2) I recorded more than daily events and believed that that qualified my writings to be called journal entries.
Henry Reed’s journal is proving to be an amusing and light read, one that I am able to find time for in snippets and snatches. It’s perfect for busy times when one wants to read, but is unable to find the time to.
It was a very pleasant afternoon that brought back memories of how absorbing books can be. And it was especially rewarding for me for what I learned of myself and of how I have changed. I definitely plan on visiting this school library more often, and hope to read through most of its books.