Reading has always been one of my favorite things to do, books are great escapes. You get drawn into other lives, other places, other times that let you leave your own life behind, even if for a short time. I read books that let me see there were worse things than what I was going through at the time, that I wasn’t alone, even if the story was just fiction.
Both my parents loved to read, b
My love of books took flight with my Dad. It was one of our “things.” Whenever I was with my Dad he would always ask, “Do you need more books.?” My answer was always yes! Our special place was Border’s book store. We would hop into his car and we would head to our haven. We would always go our separate ways down different aisles, always passing each other smiling as we picked out each new story we were going to read. Sometimes we would spend over an hour in there, me sitting on the floor looking for just the right books to read, him walking through all the aisles looking for his. When I knew I had a few picked out, we would meet back together and trade stacks and see what the other had picked.
He sometimes worried about my picks, as a teenager, it was often the tragic stories I loved to read more than anything else. I could never tell him that it helped take me away, took me away from our roller coaster ride of ups and downs with his drinking, that it helped to read about things that were way more fucked up than what was going on with us. But it didn’t really matter, this was our one way of relating and I was never going to ruin that.
Dad’s house was always filled with books; he had the most amazing, expansive bookshelves. If we weren’t able to make a trip to Borders, there was never a shortage of books I hadn’t read yet just waiting for me on his shelves. It was my own personal library. I felt a little bit like Belle in Beauty and the Beast; all I was missing was the sliding ladder. It was also when I started pulling from my Dad’s books that I realized he was reading a lot about addiction.
Three of those books were ‘The Heroin Diaries: A Year In The Life Of A Shattered Rockstar’ by Nikki Sixx from the band Mötley Crüe, ‘Don’t Try This At Home’ by Dave Navarro, and ‘Scar Tissue’ by Anthony Kiedis from The Red Hot Chilli Peppers, which are all earth-shattering, mind-blowing depictions of addiction. I don’t know how my Dad could read them, maybe he thought they would help him, or maybe they made him feel better that he at least wasn’t that bad. I never asked, and wish I had.
Now, don’t get me wrong those weren’t the only books he liked to read. I mean he did name our dog Strider from his favorite character from ‘The Lord Of The Rings’ book. My dad introduced me to so many different genres and amazing authors. Books will always remind me of my Dad and is one of my favorite things to remember. Our connection with books may have seemed small, but to me, it is everything. I even turned his old bedroom bureau into a bookcase. I always have a book in my purse, and that’s thanks to my Dad.
My Mom, she was the one who truly first planted the seed of reading. Every night she would come into my room and let me pick out a few books from my small bookcase I had behind my bed and read them with me. Bed time stories were always my favorite, we had so many kids books. I didn’t really start to get into reading full books until middle school. I didn’t have the attention span for it when I was younger, but now it’s such a huge part of my life.
When I was younger, my Mom would always take me to the local library. I was so excited to get my very own library card! She let me take out books, and books that had tapes that went along with them. I remember the racks they had set up in the kid’s section. I always had a blast finding a new story that I could read later with my Mom.
My Mom now comes to me to borrow books that I have read. I’ll call her saying, “Mom, I just read this amazing book. You’ll love it!” I always have books at my house waiting for her. My Mom, Dad, and I all have the same taste in books. I love knowing that, it may sound silly but I do. I mean it does make sense since they got me into reading.
Mom introduced me to Stephen King, who my goodness is brilliant when it comes to storytelling. How he comes up with 700 plus pages worth of a story is unfathomable to me, but he nails it every single time. I am so glad Mom had me read one of his books, I’m hooked. She also is one of the very few people I will lend my books out to. I am neurotic when it comes to getting my books back, just like my father was, and I know she will always return them. I love that we are still exchanging books that I think she will like or that she thinks I will like.
The smallest of things have connected me in a significant way to both of my parents. They both have always helped my love for books grow. I love that stories will always take us to new characters, new emotions, and new wonderlands. It doesn’t always have to be the big things that make things memorable, sometimes it’s the little things that shine through the most.
Reading will always be something that brings me joy, all for different reasons. For the way it let me escape, to now enjoying a story in itself and not to escape. As my boyfriend loves to say “You’re a
“A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one.” – George RR Martin