Fulfilling Golden Dreams - Collecting the Books of my Childhood

Being too young to make the trip alone, excursions to my personal fantasyland happened much less often than I would have preferred. Still, those early experiences left an indelible impression on me. Books, and the characters in them, became my friends. Winnie the Pooh would comfort me when I was sad or lonely, Curious George would get into mischief on my behalf, and The Cat in the Hat always made me smile. There were tears shed when Charlotte died, amazing flights taken with The Little Lame Prince, and races won atop Old Bones the Wonder Horse. Favorites would be checked out repeatedly, until some were almost memorized. The one drawback was that they always had to be returned. Every time, it was like saying goodbye to my best friend. At some point an internal promise was made: “Someday, I’m going to own all the books I want.”

By junior high, Louisa May Alcott had become my favorite author, but mystery was my favorite genre. Trixie Belden, Cherry Ames, Nancy Drew, and the Hardy Boys all had my help on many cases. The goal was to try to solve the crime before the protagonist did. Finding series books in order at the library was next to impossible. Usually, it made no difference to the story, but it seemed important at the time. Possessing complete sets of my favorite series was added to my dream of unlimited books.



Adulthood usually brings reality checks. The dreams of childhood get pushed aside in the day-to-day of life. Owning all the books I wanted was neither a reasonable nor feasible goal. I did manage to own more than my fair share, but they were rarely re-read as they had been when I was young. Though I still loved to read, the emotional bond with books was not the same. Then something interesting happened. I found an old friend at a used book sale. It was the Little Golden Book, “How to Tell Time”, the story of Tommy Too Late, who finally becomes punctual after learning how to tell time. This book is my earliest memory of reading. It was handed down to me by my sister and was also the first book I ever actually owned. Sometime later I found another favorite. “Beautiful Joe,” the horribly abused dog who finds love and hope with a new family. It was like finding a prize among the discards, and it awakened a desire to find more old favorites. Little by little, much of my “adult” library began to be replaced by the treasures of childhood.



C. S. Lewis once said: “No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally – and often far more – worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond.” As my children’s book collection has grown, the truth in Lewis’ words has been evident. The old familiar stories are just as endearing today as they were when I was young. Many previously unknown works have been discovered as well.



What began as the random acquisition of old children’s books eventually blossomed into a more focused, although very eclectic, collection. Dick, Jane, Sally, and Spot share shelf space with Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys. Little Golden Books are no less valuable to me than the classics “Tom Sawyer” and “Little Women”. Each volume is a little piece of history preserved and a window into the past. The tales, though dated, inevitably have life lessons just as valuable today as when they were written.



Those who don’t understand will sometimes question why someone of my “maturity” would be interested in children’s books. The answer lies in a quote whose origin I wish I knew – “When you carry your childhood with you, you will never become old”. Truly, I am still a kid at heart, and enjoy being one. At least internally, I will never be old.