I never met a book that didn’t want to follow me home. I rode my bike a couple of miles, up hill, one way, in the snow and ice just to go to the library in Garfield, so I could stack up books on the back tire rack and take them home, up hill in the snow and ice. The more books I could stack up, the smarter I felt. I practically begged my dad to take me to Barnes on 5th avenue, sometimes he’d let me hang out there for hours when he drove around Manhattan. That Barnes and I grew pretty tight. I still remember books I bought there. I used it like a library too, reading and reading till it was time to leave, whittling down my purchases to one or two books that I could not live without.
If books were a marker of being rich, I was obscenely wealthy. And dad was keen to build my collection. At least till one day when I brought home a book he did not approve of. I remember maybe three beatings, maybe four in my early years. This book brought on one of those beatings.
It was by hippy activist, Abbie Hoffman, called Steal This Book. Maybe, when dad found that book in my library, things changed forever. He could not stand for a book that taught you how to lie, cheat and steal your way through life. I’m sure he thought I was hopeless at that point in my life and the best thing was to turn me over to the state or better yet, the feds, or the Army. He finally got his way when I began talking with the recruiter. Dad wanted to get rid of me and I was all too ready to get rid of him. I don’t regret or feel sad about any of that, it is just the way things were. Lots to learn from it, but not feel bad about.
What did I learn then? Well, not everybody sees the world the same way. People go looking to find which camp they belong in and which camp will serve them best. The camps in those days were Hippy’s or activists and Traditionalists or the establishment. Perhaps it could be described that way today as well, I don’t know. I do know there are camps still. I was firmly in the traditionalist camp and didn’t know it. And if you’re wondering, I’ve been pretty much there my whole life. I liked the way things were and I was prepared to hold on to them, to conserve them.
I wasn’t much of an activist along Abbie’s thinking. It was the age when that tide was turning I signed up to join the Army as Vietnam was still the lead story every night. I didn’t go to Vietnam so I’m thankful for that, so much would be different today if I had. And I like the way things are today. But I was supportive of my country and its leadership, even when others were doing their best to tear it down.
So when I brought that book home, which I paid for, contrary to the title, I am sure I kicked a lot of sand in my fathers face. He was an amazing lover of freedom and taught me so much about standing up for the really oppressed people.
I learned to find oppression right near me and to act on it at the micro level. If I could help a friend, a neighbor, I felt like I was doing what I was supposed to do. The Scouts taught us to do a Good Turn Daily. I took that seriously. I was an activist along those veins.
If my son or daughter brought home that book, I would struggle with failure I suspect. I don’t want to see video’s of young people strolling into a store and stuffing Nike underwear into bags and walking out without paying for it. Yet videos like that are easy to find on the net. Maybe it’s better that we come to terms with what we do want. I want people to love to read, to improve their lives, to look out for their neighbors, to leave no footprint behind but love.
Maybe I want to be a librarian. Think I have a chance? People say you are what you eat. I’m thinking you are what you read. And I’m afraid that reading itself does not exist these days. At least there are still bookstores, where you have a chance to improve your smarts. I’ll be there sometime this week, hope to see you.