By Belle Monroe
For as long as I can remember books were a huge part of my life. I started reading at the age of four and never lost my love of books. I remember when The Snowy Day and Whistle for Willie were read in preschool class. The illustrations created by black people, featuring black people, still remain fresh in my thirty six year old brain. Once a week we were allowed library time in elementary school. Our school librarian Mrs. Primm, a woman with brown skin, a soft voice and gentle disposition, would often read Curious George to our class. After her reading we were allowed, with great fanfare, to check out a book. My choice was almost always The Bernstein Bears. With each year my tastes, interests, and even levels of reading sophistication grew. From The Baby Sitters Club to Sister Souljah’s The Coldest Winter Ever, I knew that books were going to be my constant companion.
I grew up in a small Alabama town with a postage stamp sized public library. Before Al Gore’s internet became the place to purchase books, I was solely at the mercy of what the local librarian ordered, or what the town Wal-Mart had in stock. These limited choices nearly drowned me in a sea of Danielle Steel and V. C. Andrews. Speaking of V.C. Andrews, was everything okay at home? Homegirl had me terrified of attics and powdered donuts!
On occasion, when we would go to a larger city, or “out of town” as we called it, my favorite places to visit were a Barnes and Noble or Books A Million. That was my Chuckie Cheese. Quick aside, we’re gonna have to one day unpack the idea that we were basically involved in a kiddie casino, and taught how to gamble. Nope I’m not bitter about my 5000 tickets getting me a sparkly pencil. NOT. BITTER. AT. ALL. Nevertheless, the bookstore was always a new adventure.
When you live in the town from Footloose, and there’s very little to do, books and magazine were a source of escapism and fantasy. They took me all over the world, over a span of many lifetimes. I went from 1920s Long Island with F. Scott Fitzgerald to Victorian Age England with Dickens.
A lot of lessons were taught through books and magazines. They taught me history, fashion, love and loss, sex – often times wildly over romanticized, friendship, different cultures and sometimes a little bit about myself. The written word can be your laughter, your tears, friend and even foe. For some, it can even be your church. The mind and hands of Alice Walker and Toni Morrison brought us The Color Purple and The Bluest Eye and for that I can’t ever thank them enough. Keisha Ervin took us through Dylan Monroe’s material world in Material Girl and to Mina’s St Louis hair salon in Mina’s Joint. Patrick Williams said it loud and proud that Jesus Is Black. Diahann Carroll told us that The Legs Are The Last To Go and Bobby Brown let us know that fried chicken marinated in cocaine had kick to it.
