Mr. A rarely smiled and his dress shoes—as black and shiny as his slicked down hair—squeaked. I think I saw him smile once. A little. I don’t remember. He was quiet like me. I do remember the five-shelf classroom library he stocked with books just for the fifth and sixth graders who shared the same room all day long.Read More
There is a scent. Sometimes it makes me sneeze.
The smell of books:
One like a door closed on a dusty attic that, when opened, overwhelms you with its secrets and want of discovery…Read More
By Amanda Cleary Eastep In the corner of our fifth/sixth grade Lutheran classroom was a narrow bookshelf full of books that were ours alone. Our parochial school had a library, a place I loved to visit despite the taunts of the older students who worked the desk: “You’ll never read this book. . .it’s too […]Read More