Library card

The call comes to my phone, and I get a jolt of excitement. Something I requested from the library has arrived. I get to the Hyde Park Free Library as soon as I can to pick up the materials. The front desk person scans my card, gets the book that I requested. I hear that crinkly noise of the plastic book cover open, as they scan the bar code, and I get another rush of adrenaline as I anticipate what awaits from the book that I ordered – sometimes weeks and months ago.

Call me a nerd (go ahead, I don’t mind!), call me a dinosaur (one of my early morning running buddies, in effect, did by saying, “you still order BOOKS from the LIBRARY?), but I still get a rush out of checking out books from the public library. My kids do too, making them perhaps the last generation to have such an interest.

The library card is my window to the world of printed material. Oh sure, nowadays I read the newspaper on my phone or my laptop. I have even read parts of books on my wife’s iPad. But I still love that crinkly feel of a library book – three weeks of freedom to try to finish reading the book in the allotted borrowing time. I sometimes fail at this imposed deadline – but usually only by a few days. On a side note, I often request large print books too. This has a twofold purpose: 1. It allows me to avoid using the reading glasses that have become the norm for me; 2. It gives the effect of reading fast, as I flip the large-print pages much more quickly than a “normal” book.

The library card is one of my most prized possessions, and it remains one of my personal links to the memory of my beloved mother-in-law, who we continue to miss each and every day more than two years after her passing. She loved the library, and could always – ALWAYS – be seen with a crinkly covered novel in her possession. She was a voracious reader, known to whip through entire novels in a single day and a single sitting. She always returned her books on time or earlier, a habit that I try to emulate. I will sometimes accrue minor fines of like 30 cents, but by and large I get the books back close to on time.

When she passed away suddenly back in February 2012, I felt it was my duty to return the last book she checked out, as well as her well used library card. “I’m sorry for your loss,’’ the front desk guy said when I explained why I was handing in her book, and ultimately, her library card. When I use my library card now, I think of her, and I know she would approve of being one of the last holdouts of non-electronic reading materials.