I don’t know when my obsession with reading and books began.
I remember going to my grandparents’ home as a child and grabbing whatever I could to read. The encyclopedia, the annual almanac, even the dictionary.
By the time I was in junior high, I had discovered the bookmobile library, and it was a regular retreat to grab all kinds of books. Especially scary ones. Stephen King, Robert McCammon and Dean Koontz. Plus, so many more.
I even owned a bookstore in my 20s and I was in heaven. I could pick any book in inventory.
Still, every Christmas, when someone asked me what I wanted for a gift, I would say, “Ah, I don’t care. I don’t really want anything. Just get me a book.”
I could almost see the thought bubble above them: Really? Again? I got a book for you last year.
Yes. And if you did it again, I would not be disappointed.
Two of the very first gifts I’ll never forget from my childhood came while I was in the 4th or 5th grade. The first one was a gas model airplane. A replica P-51 Mustang. Bright silver. It was fabulous. The very first time out, my dad and I got it in the air and within 5 minutes, it crashed headlong into the ground. It never flew again but I still loved it and kept it for a long time, until we moved and in the trash it went.
The other gift was a book.
A big tabletop book about the greatest horror movie monsters. This was in the early 70’s and at that time, the iconic Universal Studios monsters of Dracula, the Wolfman, Frankenstein and my most feared, The Mummy.
I read and re-read it. I kept that book until it fell apart only a few years ago.
Ever since, as Christmas comes and goes, if there has been a book under the tree for me, I smile.
My taste is simple.
But, when you ask if there is anything you can get me for Christmas and I tell you a book, don’t be disappointed. You will make my Christmas!
And I think it’s the same for many avid readers.