My friend from Korea brought these books for me to read when she came over for her daughter's graduation. What a thoughtful gift!
My earliest memory of reading is when I was three or so. I carried with me a baby formula can full of word strips that my mother wrote for me to read. I would read the words throughout the day and my mother would write new words for me from time to time. I remember that some of the adults of our village would stop me and test me and give me candy if I read them without a mistake.
I think I was a second grader when I discovered that there was a library in our school. It wasn't a much of a library, actually, just a small class room with a few bookshelves. But I had never seen so many books in my life until then. From then on I stayed after school to read. I read most of Anderson's fairy tales during that time. I still remember the empty feeling I felt after the little mermaid turned into sea foam. I loved to stay in the library. I loved the smell of the books. I loved the soft light that came through the window in the late afternoon. I loved the quietness of the school after all the kids had gone home. Then I remembered that I needed to head home before dinner time. Then I started panicking because of the ghost of the lady that might wait for me on my way home.
Our house was on the top of a mountain and the school was at the bottom of the mountain. We had to walk to school every day. It was about a mile or so. From the top of the mountain you can see three tall pine trees all in a line. The story goes that there was a woman who hung herself on the third pine tree and they never took her body down so her bones were still hanging there and whenever the wind blew you could hear the creaking of her bones. And she still hung around the pine tree to haunt kids. We always walked home in a group so we wouldn't get caught with her ghost alone, and even during the daytime walking with friends you never, never look toward the third pine tree.
I remember crying all the way home, terrified that the ghost will come and snatch me at any time. Crying, I turned my face away from the third pine tree and decided that I would not stay after school to read again. It was too much. I could almost hear the bones creaking against the wind. But the next day I couldn't resist the adventure that awaited me at the library. The terror of yesterday was forgotten and I went on to new fun and exciting stories. Then, without fail, the fear creeps into me as it came time to go home. I would cry all the way home again. I did this day after day. I am pretty sure I read most of the books in that library.
Here is a picture of my home town looking down from the mountain. Years after we left the village and after we were all grown up, I was visiting with my family and the story of the three pine trees came up. We kids all knew about the story, but my mother had no clue what we were talking about. After 20 years we came to the realization that probably the whole thing was made up by some kid. But it didn't matter what really happened because all of us kids who walked that mountain knew the story and it was real to us.
I did take the chance of getting haunted by the ghost by staying late every day, but, boy, what a treasure it was for me to be able to read.
