From a Sword in a Stone

Or Yes, you are able to read that

It always amazes me how much vitriol books bring. I grew up in the era when graphic novels, comics and magazines were not deemed “appropriate” for quiet reading time in class. We had in elementary school, a reading chart that came home for our parents to sign off on 15 minutes or so of reading each night, and which book we were reading with them. In High School I met (and joined) the banned book list during Freedom to Read Week.

But through it all, my folks held a belief that reading mattered. We had library cards, my Dad made sure we made it to used or new bookstores, comic shops, convenience stores (yes back then they had spinner racks). Other relatives shared books, took us to bookstores as well.

I was a voracious reader. Had a bit of a speech impediment (had a speech therapist that would help me out), had a facial tick of a “bunny nose”, was medicated for early life convulsions, and had chronic bronchitis/pneumonias/ear infections that had me missing days in school. My grade 1 teacher had a nervous break down, and everytime I’d get sick I would come back to a new teacher.

But I digress. I believe it was grade 4, I loved everything mythology. Knights, Vikings, Gods, and Mortals. Most know my love of Robin Hood, but there was another as well. King Arthur. A love that was almost not.

See, this legend (that also has ties into my Mum’s side of the family heritage out of Wales), has had many editions. There was one in my school library as a young one. And yes, Librarians who are good are active, we would usually go to the library on rotation, which meant most of my grade four life I would get into the library late and what I wanted to read was not available (so I read a lot of the classics). This day I wanted to read King Arthur. The librarian and my teacher deemed it to advanced for me to read.

I was a child that did not have a poker face, I emoted when I got home. My Dad, always believed his kids could accomplish whatever they set their minds too. So that evening, we went book shop hopping seeking a very specific title.

It has been a moment, some may say a part of an origin story, but it has stayed with me, literally. In a life marked of swapping books, sharing books, lending books, this edition with my hand writing of my full name on the inside cover has always remained on my bookshelf.

A reminder of that night going to the bookstore with my Dad, because he believed that I was able, and shared the joy of books with me.

It currently sits on my office book shelf with cover out, to remind me of that night, and remember with my students, that it just takes a little bit of belief in them too.