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From Freckle Rock |
When I was younger, my brother played little league baseball. I watched with my parents but often had a book in my hand. One particular evening around dusk I remember sitting on a picnic table by the concession stand. I was reading Catcher in the Rye.
At some point around 6th or 7th grade, I had discovered this fabulous room in the library where all the assigned school reading list books were kept. As much as this does not sound like an exciting coming of age discovery -not as movie-worthy as discovering The Smiths or something in that order- for me that room was it. I went to a Baptist school that whited out "damn" in Steinbeck books. Most of the books in this room were completely new to me so I basically went through the alphabet. It was in this room that I found Catcher in the Rye.
As night settled on the baseball field, my Dad looked at the red book I was reading and asked a simple question: "Is that book too old for you?"
I carefully considered the question. Was it a test? Had he read the book and found it objectionable? I had not read the whole book when he posed the question and I quickly reviewed what I had read in my head.
"No," I said carefully, waiting. But that was it. I was a good kid and I had given an honest answer. I finished the book, enjoyed it, and went back to that room in the library for another.