March 3
A story my mother told me once. She grew up in a small town in north central Massachusetts, where everyone knew everyone else. She was an avid reader and would visit the town library regularly. One day she came home to tell her mother that the librarian had told her she could not take a book out that she had hoped to read because it wasn't appropriate. My grandmother, annoyed, sat right down and wrote a note for my mother to take back to the library that let the librarian know my mother was to have access to any book she wished to read at any time. I have always loved that story- it was hard to imagine my grandmother writing such a note. She was a small, quiet woman who just didn't seem like someone who would have made such a strong point to another person living in her small town. She and the librarian must have crossed paths often. And it's the kind of story that has this kind of life line. My grandmother wrote that note for my mother. My mother told the story to me, to let me know I was never to let anyone tell me I couldn't read a book I wanted to, even if it was 'inappropriate'. And now I have told this story to my own daughters. They have always had access to any and all books they have wanted to read. My grandmother died before my daughters were born, but they have this story.
This story is precious beyond belief. Your small grandmother had strength in her pen. I can picture your mother marching herself back to the library with the note, and I bet she was beaming with pride. I can't help but wonder what book she so desperately wanted to read. And, how wonderful for you to share this story to the next generation. Wouldn't it be priceless if you could see the handwriting of your grandmother?
ReplyDeleteIt makes me think of Marmie when she sits down to write of Amy's withdrawl from the school after her limes were taken away and hands struck.