![]() ![]() Together, we waited as the librarian pulled out each date card and, with a loud chunk-chunk, stamped a crooked due date on it, below a score of previous crooked due dates that belonged to other people, other times. Then, after a while, my mother and I reunited at the checkout counter with our finds. Even when I was maybe four or five years old, I was allowed to go off on my own. The library might have been the first place that I was ever given independence. We walked in together, but, as soon as we passed through the door, we split up, each heading to our favorite section. ![]() Throughout my childhood, starting when I was very young, my mother drove me there a couple of times a week. My family lived in the suburbs of Cleveland, about a mile from the brick-faced Bertram Woods Branch of the Shaker Heights Public Library system. I grew up in libraries, or at least it feels that way. ![]()
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