Writer. Contributing Editor at The Discarded Image. Digital Content Strategist. Here's where I publicly explore the books I'm reading, the projects I'm working on, and other current interests. In MY day, library books had pockets…
Last night, as I was separating crisp pages in my cellophane-jacketed library book, an old instinct took over; I flipped to the inside back cover to look at the circulation card and find out if/when the book had been checked out previously. It wasn’t there, of course, replaced by the ISBN barcode (an upgrade I’m all for, since it improves efficiency, ultimately granting me access to more books). But I suddenly remembered how exciting it used to be to open up to that ruled manila card devoid of erratic date stamps and realize I was the first person to check out that book! It was as though, defying the public’s contented ignorance of that title, the library had decided to purchase a copy anyway, just for my benefit.
When I mentioned this to Brandon, he said, “Oh yeah, and remember when we had to sign our names on those cards to check them out? And how we always looked to see who’d had them out before us?†And I did remember. I always felt my reading choices somehow validated when I made out above mine the signatures of faculty or smart upperclassmen. It’s even possible I had higher expectations of the book based on whose names were scrawled inside. (And, already being a master of procrastination, sometimes instead of outlining the paper I was supposed to be writing I tried to match the handwriting of those signatures to the penciled and asterisked notes desecrating my pages.)
Funny how the sensation of paper between thumb and forefinger can recall youthful academic insecurities and your first crush on the pursuit of knowledge.
And remind you that you’re old.
And still a nerd.
