The journey always began with a rush of excitement. My fingers would tingle. My stomach would feel as though a little green frog was leaping intently from side to side. Shouts of joy could be heard across the quiet neighborhood. You would think it was time to go out for ice cream, or maybe a party, or even a sunny day at the water park. But this trip, this trip was special. It was a promise of a journey beyond any other. The adventure would, without a doubt, be greater than any previous ever experienced. There would be mice riding on motorcycles, giant bears trying to get our treasured strawberries, spaghetti and meatballs would even rain from the sky! We really never knew what we were in for. It was our time to go to the library with Mom.
The promise of going to the library usually started with some interrogative remarks by my Mother. “Did you make your bed and put away your clothes?” she would say. “Of course!” was always the response, even if the task had not yet been completed. Then, I would rush to my room to finish my not so finished chores. With the dishes clean, the carpets vacuumed and our rooms spotless, well as spotless as they can be if you don’t count the closet, we would soon be off to pick out a multitude of new “adventures” at the local library.
With empty backpacks accompanying our shoulders, we would stroll happily out the door. Instead of running to the car, like every other trip, we knew this special journey called for alternative transportation, our shoes. As we walked down the street heading toward the park, we would often discuss the good things and bad that were going on in our lives. What next toy to buy or the new hole in my shoe, were often part of the important discussion. It was always easy to get lost in our walking conversations. So easy, in fact, that we would sometimes not even realize we were nearly to the park until the giant trees towered over us in every direction. When walking through the park, we would often visit the ducklings down at the pond and try to talk to them through the fence. The swans, fish, squirrels and frogs were also never neglected. After a time we would decide it was time to swing and play on the toys. Although to some, this would be a final destination, but to us, the excitement was merely building up to the desires of our journey.
The park was always a highlight of our trip, but soon our excitement would be too much and it would be time to cross the street. The street that would lead us to the doors that held back the millions of newly discovered creatures and exciting places. People, who could fly, a boy who lived in a peach, and even the little Indian girl that followed her dreams, were all held at bay by the great entrance to this building of imagination.
Once inside, we would scurry feverishly to get the best adventures we could find. The vibrant illustrations seemed to shout at me at every turn. After I was sure that all the best books I could see had been discovered, it was time to consult the card cabinet for assistance. I would set down my stack of books on the table to give my tired arms some relief and cautiously flip through the cards as if I were a detective on a scene of a crime. Each new card gave me new clues as to where the suspect was hiding. The numbers and letters gave me all the evidence I required to get a warrant to go after the perp. I would scrawl out lists of locations and visit them one by one, each point leading me to a great adventure that gave promise of being better than the last. Soon though, my arms could carry no more and my Mom would help us gather our bounty to the front. With mountains of books on the front desk, we would giggle with excitement, knowing that the coming nights would offer spectacular journeys that would spark our imaginations. Once all the books had been scanned by the quiet librarian, it was time to cram them in our once empty backpacks and begin the adventure back to the sanctuary of home. Walking home always seemed miles longer and somehow uphill. Our backpacks felt as though they were carrying boulders or bricks. My legs would burn as if I had just completed a marathon. Although most of my energy had been spent running through the park, playing on the toys and searching tirelessly for books, I always managed to summon enough strength to get to our familiar blue door at home. I knew that once inside, it was time to reap the rewards of the hard work.
We would rush to get our pajamas on and scatter our treasures across the floor, yelling anxiously for our Father to come see all the new amazing books we had worked so hard for. Mom would let us pick out a few books each and it was time find a bed with warm cozy blankets. Under the soft glow of the lamp, the new adventures would unravel before us. Through the soft, loving voice of Mom, beasts would be defeated, enchanted lands discovered; many mysteries unraveled and sleepy eyelids would close.
I will always remember the numerous journeys to the library with my Mom. The excitement still lives feverishly inside me to this day. Every time I walk in the doors of a library and smell that familiar musty smell of old books mixed with new, I am swept to a time filled with warm childhood memories. My Mom, though tired herself, read the newfound treasures to my sisters and me almost every night. Looking back, I realize how much time she sacrificed to not only make the trip to the library so special, but to lovingly read each word with as much excitement as the previous. I very much miss the special trips to the library, but the love for taking in new adventures and writing about my own, will be etched in me forever.
