I was noticing a new friend’s book shelf and how he likes children’s books just as I do. He had read Alice in Wonderland. I had read it as a child. I ask myself: Did I really like that book back then? Was it just given to me and that was all I had to read? Did my mother pick my books? And why were they always a certain kind of book, like Cinderella and The Wizard of Oz? Why were they not Robinson and Crusoe and Treasure Island?
I can’t imagine liking these books now. I don’t like fantasy except say for Tolkien, but that may be unfair since I have not really tried any outside of Mockingjay, which I hated, but I read it because I was in a book group, not that I read everything they threw at me, which means I hated most.
As to Alice, who cares about a girl who takes pills, and how one pill made her larger and one pill made her small? The song was good, White Rabbit. Love Minus Zero was a far better song. Maybe this book would have been better if written by a hippie.
Speaking of which, I was never in to taking drugs in the 60s or 70s. So. as for Alice in Wonderland, I never wanted to read it again or even analyze it to even know why the hippies loved the book, or even if they did. Still, I liked the hippies, those back to the landers, that is, those who didn't sit around stoned all day.
And back to my youth: I read everything. I read labels, cereal boxes, bill boards, and I loved those Burma Shave signs along the highways, where one sign said: Shave the modern way, and one sign said: No brush. The next sign said, No lather / No rub-in / Big tube 35 cents - Drug stores / Burma-Shave. I say, Who can beat that?
When I grew older I always tried to see what a stranger was reading, the book in their hands. Sometimes I would ask. When I was in college I began collecting children’s books because I hadn’t read them as a child. Wind in the Willow was one I bought, but I never read it. I wondered why my mother didn’t take me to the library earlier in my life and stock me up on children’s books. I grew up with deprivation of environment, I thought. Maybe it was because she had just gone through a divorce when I was 8 years old and had to work, get her life back together. I only remember that as a teenager, we went together to the library sometmes. We read Bridey Murphy and Lost Books of the Bible and wondered if reincarnation was real, and why wasn’t Jesus’ childhood in the Bible and where did Cain get his wife.
And then in my early teens, I found the section of books about mountain people. I have no idea what attracted me to this genre. I do know that there was a wonderful librarian, a woman, who, when I came up to the desk and asked for more books on the mountain people would lead me to them. And now I know, a lightbulb just went off in my head. It was her that introduced me to my first book about mountain people. It was The Shepherd of the Hills, and then she took me to The Trail of the Lonesome Pine, or it was the other way around. Then came Gene Stratton-Porter, and next it was the Bald Knobbers, and all by myself I found Tobacco Road, which my mother took away, telling me that it was a dirty book. Next, I was reading one about the area where I lived, The Salinas: Upside Down River, and years later a friend gave it to me without realizing that I had read it. I got into the Nancy Drew and the Dana Sisters next, liking the latter series better. I loved westerns and read most on their shelves. I read about the outlaws and how Jesse James came to Paso Robles where I lived. I read one that I could never find again: The main character was a sheriff or a marshal, and his name was Jack Slader. I still wish that I could find it. Next, I was into the non-fiction books, veterinarian medicine, how to increase your memory and who knows what all. I wanted to know everything. I just didn't want to know about Alice or Cinderella or even Peter Pan anymore.
This reminds me of a older man who used to come into the library who talked with me. It probably wasn’t often, but I knew him just because he was around. He told me that he wanted to learn every word in the dictionary and then go on The Millionaire and get rich. I thought how good it would be to increase my own vocabulary, but it was always so boring, so I never got past Aardvark and used to call my brother one. If only the other words were just as interesting.
Then I met the man who cleaned up the park where the library was located. He showed me the pond with the mosquito fish that was hidden in the trees and gave me some for my aquarium. He showed me pine nuts and said that they were good to eat. He even showed me how I could find them in pine cones, that is, if the squirrels hadn’t gathered them first. And last of all he showed me how all the trees in the park had name tags in English and in Latin.
So, yes, my mother had to work to support us kids, and I heard a lot of “Go out and play,” by my older sister who quit high school to take care of us, and that I did. That part was wonderful because I could go anywhere in town, to the library, down to the river with my dog or into the hills where I would sometimes come home with poison oak. I remember how I explored every shop in town, every corner, every street, even the alleys where people had wonderful gardens. One day my friend Mary and I went into the Mercantile to try on men’s hats. We told the clerk that we wanted to buy our dads a hat, and the clerk didn’t even care, although we knew that he didn’t believe us. Exploring was fun.
But as for this book, I would never think to read it again even though I have long missed watching Disney World on our TV on Sundays nights. What do I watch instead, The Walking Dead. My how times have changed.