One of my fondest memories that still haunts my mind to this day is of my mother taking me to the library on Saturdays so that I could check out books. For some, this would not be a memory of great importance, but to me, it is not only a memory I cherish well but a moment that has shaped me into the woman I am today.
Reading is my greatest passion in life and my mother was the one who sparked it. When she was in her 20s and living the life of a young woman in NY, her down time from being a flight attendant for TWA were spent cooped up in her apartment with many thick novels for her amusement. In her own way, she passed that same love to me when I was just a child. Now, although her love of reading has dimmed somewhat due to her career and her devotion to finding a cure for breast cancer, I have taken up the torch and continued the passion in my own way. A day can not go by without me walking into a bookstore and just admiring the many tomes on their shelves, just waiting to be bought and devoured mentally. Sometimes I will buy a book just for the sake of having it within my library, regardless of if I even read it or not.
Books, to me, have always been a key to learning more about the world we live in, more so than TV; with every book, I learn something new, or enhance what I already know about a particular subject. Sometimes, however, a book becomes a vacation from my world of brokers and the stock market to another city, another period of time, or even another world.
When I became a tutor for adults who could not read several months ago, I stated during the training session that I loved books so much that I even had a perfume that smells like an old musty paperback, plus that my apartment had been taken over by my books.
Perhaps my love of books slips slightly to the manaic side, of which even my mother has jokingly told me, but I am and will always be convinced that perhaps our lives today, amid wars and conflicts, would be better off if we could just take a deep breath and open a book.
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