Musings of a library lover

I have fond memories of many things about my elementary school experience, but Library Day is way at the top of that list. Library Day was the best day of the week, and not only because the "cold water fountain," which offered up the very best drink in the whole school building, was located right outside the library doors. Library Day meant an uninterrupted half hour spent perusing the shelves for something new and different and exciting to read about. It meant curling up in a quiet, sunlit corner to try out a new book before making a firm commitment to borrowing it, and it meant the hard punch of a date stamper on the inside covers of the selections I eventually made, signifying that they were mine to explore and enjoy until the next Library Day. In the school library, I learned independent thinking and good decision making and I reveled in the power of making my own choices, all before I'd ever even cracked the spine of a book.

I can't begin to hazard a guess how many books I checked out of the school library during my elementary years. The school library wasn't huge, its selections weren't endless and its presence in my life certainly didn't supersede the town library, which I also visited frequently and with much delight. But something about the in-school experience of making my own autonomous choices to explore my own individual interests in the midst of a day full of organized classroom lessons? That had an impact. I don't remember much of what I borrowed from the school library. But the memory of the borrowing itself? That is both indelible and impactful, even decades later.

There is no library in Julia's school. I scarcely even noticed its absence when we were touring schools last September; some schools had libraries, others didn't and really, after two harried days of viewing school after school, I was lucky if I remembered which ones I liked, let alone what amenities each had to offer. When I realized that we'd selected one of the no-library schools, I was saddened, but not overly concerned. Julia's current teacher has been fabulous about scrounging up appropriate reading material and recommended reading lists when Julia's abilities have outstretched the resources of her Reception classroom. Between the library and the bookstore and a wonderful, devoted teacher, we've made things work for Julia this year. And a year, I figured, was all it would take. The facility my kids attend is actually just one of a number of buildings that house students in this particular school. Next year, Julia moves around to the Junior School building, where she'll be the youngest of the school population rather than the oldest. Surely there, she'd find a library?

One would think. But yesterday, I got my "official tour" of the Junior School, and guess what? No library there, either. There is a lovely outdoor play space and a warm and inviting music room. There are sunny, well lit classrooms and interesting examples of the students' work adorning every spare inch of wall space in the building. There are, of course, dozens and dozens of books on individual shelves in each classroom. The children all look happy and confident and well adjusted and well cared for. It is a wonderful school. But there is no library. There is no room that smells of book bindings and ink and well worn paper, no quiet nook to browse, no sunny spot to lose yourself in an exciting new read. And that makes me unbelievably, indescribably sad.

Julia doesn't need a school library to develop a love of the written word. She's already a devotee of the public library and a huge fan of the bookstore. She's up way past her bedtime reading in the glow of her night light and she's awake for God knows how long in the early mornings devouring entire chapter books before she leaves the warm comfort of her bed. She inherited the bookworm gene from me every bit as much as she got my round face and my brown hair, and that gene will easily keep her invested in the written word without weekly school-sponsored trips to a library. But it is because of that shared gene, because of our identical tendency to stick our identical noses in books for hours on end, that I am the saddest about the loss. I loved the school library. And I can't help but wish that Julia would have the opportunity to feel the same way.

My kids are getting an amazing education at this posh London private school, of that there is no doubt. But I can't help but be suspect of an institution which doesn't see the value of a school library. I understand, of course, that space is of a premium in city schools. There's simply not room for everything, and so decisions need to be made and priorities need to be placed. But how could you not place enough of a priority on a library to at least allocate a broom closet somewhere to ensure the creation of one? "How will you ever leave this amazing British private school experience for an American public school?" people ask me all the time. If there is a library in our local NJ public school, my answer will be "easily."