THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, August 7, 1994 TAG: 9408050272
SECTION: CHESAPEAKE CLIPPER PAGE: 06 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY ERIC FEBER, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Medium: 69 lines
WHENEVER I walk into a library during the summer, I'm filled with a sense of wonder and excitement - still.
And even now, as an adult with a family and a mini-van, the onslaught of a typical hot and humid Hampton Roads summer still reminds me of books, libraries and summer reading programs.
When my brother and I were growing up in the Ghent of Norfolk in the late 1950s and '60s, summer meant the joys of playing outside - even past our bedtime - catching lightnin' bugs in jars and the chance to see television programs my parents never let us watch during the school year.
And since both our parents worked, it also meant we were basically on our own.
In those days there were no summer day camps, no local community center. And though we weren't members of some fancy neighborhood pool and were too young for summer jobs, we were never at a loss for things to do.
We rode our dented Huffy bikes all over creation and back. We built ship models and blew them up with firecrackers at a nearby swampy area. We carried out ``safaris'' in nearby wooded areas. We caught June bugs, tied strings to their legs and flew them like miniature toy planes. We played softball and rolla-bat. We organized water balloon battles.
And we read. Oh, how we read.
We read to pass the time, we read to fuel our overactive imaginations, we read because we were curious about everything in the world and we read because it offered escape from the summer doldrums.
The library became our day camp.
Each summer we couldn't wait to join the children's summer reading program offered at our public library's children's department. The librarian gave all young members a specially designed book tally sheet. After completing a book, we had to list the title and author on the back of the sheet and glue in a special sticker in a designated space.
At the end of each summer our sheets were a riot of colorful stickers. My brother and I ran out of space to list all of our books.
One of our biggest summer thrills was the day my parents allowed my brother and me to ride our bikes to the main Norfolk Public Library, at that time located in what seemed to us a wondrous massive stone building on Freemason Street (it still exists as a refurbished office).
Having read, seen or fingered every book of interest at the local Van Wyck branch, the untapped main library was to us a veritable gold mine/Disney World of books. We crawled through the library's collection like grubby bookworms with soiled, sweaty necks.
We were awed by the scores of magazines on every subject and by the hundreds of ``cool'' reference books on armor, exotic animals and insects, the anatomy, battles, myths from other lands and maps of the world.
And we made new friends: H.G. Wells, Sax Rohmer, Robert E. Howard, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Homer, H. Rider Haggard, Jules Verne, G.A. Henty, Edgar Allan Poe, Thomas Bulfinch, Lewis Carroll, C.S. Lewis and many, many others who had the magic to transport a couple of bored boys to worlds of adventure, daring, mystery and excitement.
We traveled to ancient Egypt, the rings of Saturn and beneath the sea. We learned about Napoleon's victories, the skill of Robert E. Lee, how castles were built, how spiders caught flies, how poisonous snakes inflicted death and how myths fascinated the Greeks and Romans.
Many times I wish I could relive those days of boyish mischief and carefree summer reading. And each summer I still feel a tinge of excitement over joining a children's reading program. But those things are not for adults.
Hey, I just finished a novel about the Civil War's Battle of the Crater. Do I get a sticker? I'll make up my own tally sheet. by CNB