I was very young when I first stepped into my first public library. Luckily for me, my library is about five houses down from me at the end of the block. Coming from a family of immigrants, my parents took great pride in teaching me Spanish. Learning to read and understand English was going to happen, but exactly when and how well was still up for debate.
Walking through those doors, with the smell of old paper, air freshener, and stillness, I found a great amount of comfort. It was like an escape from the expected chaos that comes with growing up in a large family. I could spend hours flipping through the books and studying the images on their pages. I couldn’t really read in English, and the small bits of syllables and letters I could decipher mostly echoed in my head in Spanish. But I believe that just looking at the illustrated action sparked a drive in me to understand what was going on.
The first step I took toward learning how to read was through audiobooks. I didn’t know what they were, but the librarian at my local library must have noticed my unusual ways of “reading” and recommended that I try them.
I went home and opened one of those Ziploc-looking bags equipped with a CD and a book. I placed the disc in my CD player, put on my small headphones, and I immediately fell in love. I had already learned to understand English but still had a limited vocabulary. I knew enough words to understand books like “Pig meets Dog” and “Dog eats burger.” Before the audiobooks, I could look at the pictures, but I didn’t always understand what they meant. The narration gave those pictures context, helping me understand what was happening in the story. Then, when I heard a word I didn’t know, I could look at the picture and use what was happening in the scene to figure out its meaning. The more I listened, the more words I recognized, and the more of the story I could understand. It was this process that taught me how to read and understand English, slowly growing my limited vocabulary until it eventually matched, and then surpassed, the vocabulary I had in my first language.
I think that the library is a special place for children, or at least it was for me. It gave me the opportunity to learn and grow at my own pace, not as a form of punishment, but in a way where I could be in control of my own learning. Learning English became a joyful journey led by curiosity through the shelves of my local library. A couple of classes offered at the library also helped me connect with my peers in smaller groups, while my parents could speak with others and ask questions about what they thought would be best for me. As I begin this new chapter of my column and ask myself the questions that will come about with every new coming year, I think that the library is definitely a great place to start, and I would recommend others to do the same. I believe that libraries can help people from many different types of groups that may be in need of a little guidance, comfort, and community.
Libraries can meet people at whatever gap they happen to have in their lives. For a child of immigrants, that gap might be language. For someone else, it might be access to a computer, a quiet place to study, help finding a job, or simply a community outside of their home.
There is no assigned reading, no deadline, and no one telling you what you have to be interested in. You can walk in not knowing what you need and leave having discovered something you never knew you wanted to know.
