Nov 8, 2011 1:06 PM
For a young girl growing up in Brooklyn in the 1940s, life was very basic. Times were tough for everyone in my East New York neighborhood but, as kids, we never realized we were poor or that we were missing anything. No one had televisions to compare lifestyles and Dick Tracy’s radio watch was the ultimate “hi-tech sci-fi.”
Reading was something you did in school and, afterward, only when you had to. But not for me. I’d sneak off to the library, excitedly pick out a new book as if it were a delicious piece of candy and tuck myself into a cozy corner eagerly awaiting the beautiful world I found in the always mesmerizing words. And I would say to myself: “Someday …”
I thrilled and cried at Anna Sewell’s “Black... more
Reading was something you did in school and, afterward, only when you had to. But not for me. I’d sneak off to the library, excitedly pick out a new book as if it were a delicious piece of candy and tuck myself into a cozy corner eagerly awaiting the beautiful world I found in the always mesmerizing words. And I would say to myself: “Someday …”
I thrilled and cried at Anna Sewell’s “Black... more
more
