In a comment on my last entry, my dad remembered reading to my brother and I when we were little: “It also brings back my own memories of reading to you and your brother every night, wherever we were and reading with you when you were little, knowing that the stories we shared were part of both our lives.” When I was ten, we were still reading together every night. That last summer, we would sit on the back porch and take turns reading The Dark is Rising, with our puppy at our feet. Over the years, our reading material raged from Mr. Popper’s Penguins and Shel Silverstein to my dad’s poetry anthology from college. During our year in China, we made our way through the Little House books that my grandparents mailed to us on the slow boat.
My memories of reading with my parents recall some of the times in my life when I felt the most safe and comfortable, regardless of where we were. That might be the reason, when I first started library school, that I fell in love with children’s librarianship. As I rediscovered the books that I loved when I was a little girl (and some new favorites as well), I realized that not every kid is as lucky as I was. Reading is a birthright, and there are many families who simply can’t give that to their children. When I had to choose between Youth Services and historical archiving, I felt I had a chance to give children the gift of comfort, delight and discovery that happens when someone reads to them.
When I was still in college and I had decided to go to library school, one of my coworkers was surprised to hear that I was thinking about being a children’s librarian.

“Be an archivist,” he said. “I can’t see you reading to babies.” Being a children’s librarian is about so much more than that: it’s about literacy, outreach, and making sure all kids have equal access to books and information. Studies have shown that the single most important factor in a child’s developing literacy often is proximity to a library.

During my practicum, a father came in with his little girl, who must have been about eight years old. While he was being tutored in English, the girl came up to me and asked me for some books. She was extremely bright and articulate, and seemed happy with what we had found. As they were leaving, she came back to the reference desk, her eyes shining.

“Thank you,” she said. “I am SO anxious to read these when I get home.” She hadn’t been to our particular branch before, but now I knew she’d be back. As I had many times throughout the semester, I knew I was where I was meant to be.