8. LOVE OF READING

“Where do you think you’re going with that, little girl?” roared the store detective. “But I was just bringing it back!” I protested lamely. “What do you take us for, a lending library? No more nonsense from you; come along to the back-office where we can call the police”.

The police - what will my parents think? In a way it’s their fault, isn’t it, as they had insisted on signing me up for that stupid day-camp. Each wonderful summer day to be spent in those smelly old classrooms, with kids I didn’t know and didn’t really care for. None of the activities held any interest for me: plaiting plastic lanyards for non-existent whistles, learning how to make instant mashed potatoes, or playing basketball in the asphalted school courtyard.

Only the poorest kids in the neighborhood went to day-camp here in the Bronx school, the roughest ones who frightened me and made fun of my not-yet perfect English. It had been different last summer, at that wonderful camp in the countryside on the lake. That was a special charity place, though, and kids were selected according to academic promise and ability. They were given the free opportunity to swim in the lake and walk in the hills, with the chance to make good friends in the cabins where they shared bunk beds, four to a room.

But now I was too old for that camp and had to make the daily trek to my school as mother Edith insisted, even in the summer. “I just won’t go any more” I thought, “All I need is something to read”. There was a park in the neighborhood where the day could be passed more pleasantly, enjoying the sun, the grass and the shady trees. Photo18 But I couldn’t bring along any of my library books from home or my mother would get suspicious.

My parents had always loved reading, but I was taking things to an extreme, they thought. I was already forbidden to go out with a book in my hand, after a neighbor had reported seeing me reading while walking along the street and being almost run over by a taxi at the cross-walk. Then I had tried leaving my book in a corner of their floor in the apartment building, near the elevator, but my father had found that hiding place and given me a good talking-to. How I hated to see him angry, he had such a terrible temper!

And then I made the big discovery: Woolworth’s had dozens of colorful paperbacks on rotating shelves, there for the taking. I couldn’t afford to buy any, of course, but I brought them back at the end of each day and thought that there was no harm in it. That is, until the store detective caught up with me and dragged me into the back of the store. “Must you call the police and tell my parents?” I wailed, red-faced and frightened.

Luckily, they were only trying to teach me a lesson, over a 99 cent theft, just to make sure that I wouldn’t graduate on to bigger things in the future. The day-camp period was almost over by then and I just put up with the rest. Soon the regular school year began again and studying took up my time, leaving just enough space for reading the six books allowed monthly out of the Public Library.

The following year I was old enough to start working during school vacations, as an Assistant Counselor at the camp in the country. Photo19 Not for pay, but with the opportunity of staying again in that wonderful place and enjoying the summer as it should be enjoyed, surrounded by the beauties of nature. Passing my free time reading in the dappled shade of a tall tree remained a favorite pursuit for me even in later years – even now.