The Library

I love visiting the library. Since my childhood visits, when I would fill a plastic basket with reads, I have always enjoyed exploring the shelves to see what would catch my eye and provide hours of enjoyment during the next few weeks.

It's a good thing I'm so in love with the library, because after what has happened during my last two visits, I may have been tempted to give up out of embarrassment.

Situation #1: A nearby town has an amazing, three-story collection of books. We love going to this library because it provides a much better selection than our town's one-story building. It's also fun to simply explore a new place. Although we'd been checking out books from this library for more than a year, I had always relied on Dave's card and hadn't registered my own. A few weeks ago, I decided it was time to stop embarrassing my husband with girly books to check out and use my own card. I approached the librarian, explained what I wanted to do, and waited while she phoned my hometown's library to confirm that I was a patron. I was surprised when the librarian waved me over and said, "She wants to talk to you." As I took the phone and said hello, the librarian from my library started asking me questions. "What is your address?" "Why isn't it on file with us?" As I explained that I had moved only a few months before and hadn't realized I had to register my new address, she seemed to get more upset. She sternly told me, "Well, you need to come here with proof of your new address within the next week. If you don't, your account will be blocked." What?! Now, I can understand a librarian being angry about someone using his or her card if that person has moved out of the district, but I was still paying taxes to fund her collections. I promised I would stop by, then handed the phone to the librarian, who looked shocked by what had happened. Fortunately, she was kind enough to proceed with registering my card, and I was able to check out books under my name.

Situation #2: Yesterday, we returned our books to the super library and went in search of new reads. I picked up a couple of interesting nonfiction books then selected a Sophie Kinsella book that I hadn't read yet for my "mindless" read. We approached the front desk, and I handed over my library card and books to the same librarian who had gone through embarrassing situation number one with me only a few weeks earlier. Everything was fine, until she held up the Sophie Kinsella book and asked, "Would you like to buy this?" I'm sure I must have had a confused look on my face as I glanced at the scratched-out barcode inside the front cover. "No," I replied, wondering how that book had ended up next to all the other Sophie Kinsella books that were not for sale. I told her where I'd found it, explained that I didn't want to buy it, and finished up the transaction, walking away without the book. Again, I had somehow managed to embarrass myself at my favorite library.

It seems that every time I visit this library, I'm taking a chance. Will I leave unscathed with my pride intact? Or will I find yet another way to make me look like a goon? I guess I'll just have to go and find out.

The Power of Words

I've finally got my hands on The Help and have been enjoying it immensely any spare moment I can find. A few days ago, I came across this excerpt and knew I needed to write it down so I would always remember:

She say, "Mae Mo bad."

The way she say it, like it's a fact, make my insides hurt.

"Mae Mobley," I say cause I got a notion to try something. "You a smart girl?"

She just look at me, like she don't know.

"You a smart girl," I say again.

She say, "Mae Mo smart."

I say, "You a kind little girl?"

She just look at me. She two years old. She don't know what she is yet.

I say, "You a kind girl," and she nod, repeat it back to me. But before I can do another one, she get up and chase that poor dog around the yard and laugh and that's when I get to wondering, what would happen, if I told her she something good, ever day? . . .

After while, Mae Mobley come over and press her cheek up to mine and just hold it there, like she know I be hurting. I hold her tight, whisper, "You a smart girl. You a kind girl, Mae Mobley. You hear me?" And I keep saying it till she repeat it back to me. (The Help, p. 92)

It's so easy for us to forget the power of words. Now that I have a child who is just beginning life with a clean slate, I have been reminded of how important it is to watch what I say. I want Miss G to be built up by my words, not torn down. I also want her to hear my words building up others rather than tearing them down.

It's easy now to encourage Miss G. She is surrounded by people who tell her she is the cutest, smartest, best baby in the world. But I know my desire will be challenged when she gets older. It won't be so easy to follow when she spills the milk for the hundredth time or makes a masterpiece with permanent marker on her bedroom wall. 

In the same way, as she comprehends more and more of what I say, it will be difficult for me to always say positive things about people. I don't want to be an example of a person who snaps at her daddy or badmouths others. I want her to see the value in positively encouraging others, whether in their presence or not. I want her to understand the power of her words and what they can do to help people.

Just like Aibileen, I want to tell Miss G, and others in my life, that they are something good every day.