My Love for the Library

It was only a bike ride away – a short walk in the winter – but when I entered the Bala-Cynwyd Library on Levering Mill Road, I knew I was entering another world. For hours on end I would browse the shelves to find new universes of knowledge, frequently curling up on the floor, or at one of the little tables, to stretch my imagination or discover a new hobby. Reading enlarged my soul, and the smart, patient librarians were ever tolerant of my endless questions and even more endless presence.

I'd gotten the library habit early – at the giant Free Library of Philadelphia. There, I spent precious time in the stacks learning firsthand the meaning of “serendipity” while waiting for one of my parents to collect me after school. It was a little scary being in such a huge building, but I loved that I could find anything my young mind wanted. When we moved to Cherry Bend in Merion, as I entered fourth grade, and I realized that I could get to the library by myself, it was as liberating as getting my driver's license. Now I could go there at will – whenever hockey or basketball or tennis practice didn't interfere – and now I could have my very own card to borrow books. Which I did, over and over and over.

I wish I could remember specifically which books I took out, and which I devoured, but the titles of what we owned and what I had on loan have become conflated over time. But I'm betting the hand-written records of the rubber-stamped cards would include a generous and eclectic selection of subjects from magic tricks to salamander habits, from Nancy Drew to Cherry Ames, from ancient history to modern art. And somehow, the constant fragrance of – what where they, lilies? – made it all so much sweeter, although I would be hard-pressed to tell you whether they were actual flowers or just the lovely perfume on the ladies behind the desk. I can still smell it today. And I am so grateful that it – and the library – were there for me.

- Lynn Sherr, Television Journalist, Author, Eternal Reader