The Power of Reading

            In addition to pens and calligraphy, I have also been fascinated by books ever since I was a child.  Once again my father is the reason for this passion.  Dad was always reading something, whether a book, the newspaper, the Bible, or study guides.  If I went into my parents’ bedroom at any given time for sure there were always books on his night table and even on the floor next to the bed.   Neither he nor Mom ever read storybooks to us as children, but through his actions, I grew to love reading.

            My kindergarten teacher did read to us aloud.  I recall when the teacher announced story hour and we all sat on a bright blue rug she had in the corner of the room.  She read and sang the Mother Goose rhymes so many times that we memorized them effortlessly:  Mary Had a Little Lamb; Baa Baa, Black Sheep; Three Blind Mice; Peter Piper; Humpty Dumpty; Old King Cole; and countless others. Most of the elementary school classrooms had a reading section and some teachers even allowed us to borrow books, but I was so timid that I dared not take advantage of that generous offer; I limited myself to the readers we were assigned. It was not until fifth grade that I had the opportunity to discover books in a more intense and personal way.

            One of the best days of the week for me as a young child was Sunday because the New York Daily News had a colorful, multipage comics section featuring Dick Tracy, Li’l Abner, Dondi (my favorite) and Little Orphan Annie, among others.  It didn’t matter if I could read the words or not, I understood the story because of the pictures.  That was what we did as a family most Sundays after church; Lily, Joseph and I sat around the dining room table reading the paper with Dad while Mom cooked dinner.  We fought about who would get to comics first but Dad wisely gave each one of us a page and then told us to share.  Dad read aloud to us from the Bible every day before we left for school.  He read Psalms which proclaim the love and majesty of God, and from the book of Proverbs which provides advice for living a righteous life.  

            I remember the first time Mom gave me permission to go the public library; I was in fifth grade. It was a ten-block walk from our home.  I think she allowed me to go because my school friend, Josephine, came by to plead for me.  When I first walked into the majestic brownstone building on Fourth Avenue and 51^st street, I was awed by the tall wooden doors at the entrance that had etched glass in the center and the cool marble floor and wide steps that led to another set of doors. Once inside, there was a large dark wood counter that formed a rectangle and inside that space there were a few persons busy arranging books on carts or filing cards.  The librarian was very friendly.  She welcomed me, helped me obtain a library card, and informed me I could borrow up to ten books every week; she even gave me a tour of the library.  Ten books a week? Unbelievable! From that moment on, every two weeks I trekked to the library, with or without Josephine, and borrowed four or five books.  I started with fairy tales (read them all), and then moved on to other books like Heidi, The Secret Garden, Little Women, Robin Hood, Sherlock Holmes and so many, many others.  Since I was very limited in other leisure activities by my parents, books became my escape into a different, imaginary world of magic, love, adventure, mystery and drama; it was a world I created in my mind through the power of words.

            Reading continued to be an important part of my life at all stages.  When I moved to Puerto Rico as a young woman, one of the first things I did in Bayamón, where I first lived with my family, was to look for the public library.  I never found it.  Years later I learned through research that the establishment and upkeep of public libraries in Puerto Rico had not been a priority for the politicians, no matter their ideology.  Libraries were built but sooner or later, due to lack of funds, many suffered demise. Public transportation was also limited and I did not know how to drive at that time so I did the next best thing, I joined a mail order book club.  I kept up my membership throughout the early years of marriage and supplemented my reading selections whenever I went to New York to visit my family by visiting Barnes & Noble in New York City.  My sister Abi always scheduled a day in the city that began with Barnes & Noble; she knew it was an unwritten law in my itinerary.

            One aspect of my higher education experience in Puerto Rico that I will always be grateful for is reading the works of many, many wonderful Spanish language authors.  I read the writings of authors from different Spanish-speaking countries of origin like Unamuno (Spain), Neruda (Chile), Sábato (Argentina), Sor Juana Inés de La Cruz (Mexico), and Benedetti (Uruguay), just to name a few.  I was introduced to renown authors from Puerto Rico like José De Diego, Luis Palés Matos, Julia de Burgos, Eugenio María de Hostos, René Marqués, Pedro Juan Soto, Abelardo Díaz Alfaro, José Luis González, Luis Rafael Sánchez, Rosario Ferré, and so many more that the list would be interminable.  I read poetry, short stories, essays and novels that, had I not moved to Puerto Rico, I would have probably never had the privilege of experiencing.  It was like the first day I went to the public library in Brooklyn and discovered the amazing world and power of words contained in books, only this time the discovery was in my heritage language, Spanish.

            Books are my friends and my passion.  They take me wherever I want to go, whenever I want to go, without leaving the comfort of my recliner.  Books give me joy, cause me to cry, provoke deep thought, provide me with topics of conversation, and even contribute to change or modification of my beliefs and actions.  That is the power of reading. That is the power of words.

            My books were the first items I packed when we moved from Puerto Rico to Florida.  I had to give away many, but managed to bring thirty boxes that included my favorite fairy tales and children’s books; novels, poetry, history books, textbooks, and self-help books in both Spanish and English. When we moved into our home, the first thing my husband did was prepare my home library so I could take my treasures out of the boxes. This man truly knows me.

On any given day, if you walk into my bedroom, you will find books on my night table and on the floor by the bed.  It’s my silent homage to Dad, the man who planted in my soul the seed of reading.

“Books are the plane, and the train, and the road.  They are the

destination, and the journey. They are home.”

                        Anna Quindlen, “How Reading Changed My Life”