Libraries
I came to Canada 10 years ago in a large, grey-knit cotton sweater (three times my size), my favourite pair of flared pants and too-small-too-tight white sneakers. I held the hands of my two younger brothers who were just 5 and 3 years old as my parents ushered us into our first Canadian taxi on a cold and foggy May twilight. A month later my family and I moved into our 27TH floor apartment in downtown Toronto that had a Pizza Pizza and cemetery right in front. My dad purchased a 25 inch TV and a $5 dollar indoor antenna and we feasted our eyes on Saturday morning Canadian cable cartoons. I remember Card Captors the best; it was on the only channel with the least static. September came around and I went to school, and like all those before me, my heavy accent,clothes (so 1995) and rice avec fish lunch made making friends the hardest and most overwhelming ordeal of my life.
But I discovered the 2ND floor of St. Martins Catholic School where a small and cozy library was nestled between the Grade 8 classrooms and fire escape. Do I dare wander near the Grade 8s?
Unlike the one in my school in Riyadh this library was welcoming; the books were not in chains nor were they wrapped in plastic. I could borrow as much books as I wanted without any condescending librarian writing down my name in vicious script, muttering: “Don’t get this dirty. Bring it back by this date or I will tell the principal.” I borrowed my first book drenched in anxiety and conditioned fear, but the tiny white librarian woman only smiled and said: “Goosebumps? I like Welcome To Dead House the best.” I wrote my name in the prettiest cursive (which the librarian complimented). I wonder if it’s still there.
I enjoyed our class’ library visits where that same librarian would read to us and give us time to browse the shelves. I got so adventurous with my selections that sometimes I just ended up drawing the book covers because the English was still too difficult for me to understand. My English improved from all the reading I did and it gave me enough confidence to speak up. I made a lot of friends because I had a lot of stories to tell and crazy facts to share (Did you know? A crocodile cannot stick its tongue out. Did you know? Most tropical marine fish can live in a tank of human blood. Did you know? To take an oath, ancient Romans put a hand on their testicles).
My favourite day of the week was Thursday because at 8pm the Toronto Library Van would make its way into our neighbourhood and stay for 2 hours in a parking lot 10 minutes away from our apartment. I went all the time despite the darkness, wall of snow and my parents’ constant warnings of rapists, murderers and grabby hobos who hung around outside our apartment building (they let me go anyway). I remember once or twice finding a book I’ve been looking for for so long that I signed it out, ran home and forgot to borrow more. One book was never enough.
Two years later we moved to Mississauga and our new place was only 15 minutes away from the community library. My parents said they kept in mind how much I loved the library…and so I visited almost every day during summer vacation and even dragged my brothers along, even though they said they would rather sit and play video games. They never said so, but I know they enjoyed browsing the books. I sat between the bookshelves reading about fairies, amazing feats, weird medical conditions and torture devices. I secretly browsed the anatomy books to look at male and female genitalia. I read about sex and masturbation in snippets since I constantly had to look over my shoulder. I hid those glorious books in bookshelf crevices and between other less borrowed books so nobody would take them, and I could read them again the next time I came back.
I ran around the Romance section laughing and looking at the ridiculous book covers. I borrowed so much DVDs and VHS tapes and watched them all repeatedly far beyond the due date (I racked up quite the fees). I memorized knock-knock jokes, puns…I read how-to books: how to origami, how to cast spells, how to write poems, how to draw eyes, how to draw faces, how to draw poses, how to be an artist. I read about schizophrenia, depression and anti-social behaviour. I read about evolution, natural selection and genetics. I read about all the things that interested me and eventually shaped what I wanted to be.
Now in university, I find comfort and solace in the libraries. Libraries remind me of my roots and my family’s beginnings in Canada. For me, the library represents everything I love in this country: freedom, opportunity, knowledge and variety. The library gave me the opportunity to shape my opinions about issues and ideas. The library gave me a place to hang out after school–without it I would have been sucked into continued loneliness, without the chance to realize who I could meet, who I am or what I could do. I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be me.
I don’t agree with any kind of action that will limit access to libraries whether it’s just cutting down the amount of shelves allowed for the standard library bookshelf or closing down half the libraries in Toronto. So when Doug Ford proclaims that library cuts will happen “in a heartbeat” he’d better think about those who will be left out from the same opportunities I was lucky enough to take. He’d better think about the children who have nowhere to go after school and think about what they would be doing instead of going to the library to read Yu-Gi-Oh comics or who made it into the Guinness World Records by fitting the most straws in his/her mouth. He’d better think about the things children and adults will fail to discover, be curious about, learn about and dream about.
What a heartfelt story! libraries are gold mines
Thank you and yes, they are!!