When I was a kid, I loved to read. It consumed much of my time. My mom helped by buying me any books I wanted. She would also let me stay up past my bedtime if I was reading, and since I slept poorly, having the freedom to pass out with a book and a nightlight on helped me settle in.

We used to have book orders in school once or twice a year. I just looked it up, and I think they still happen. If so, that’s awesome.

Anyway, Scholastic book order forms were these fantastic little catalogs that managed to squeeze some serious info onto the pages. They were colorful, with pictures of animals and familiar characters from the ’80s and ’90s plastered all over the front, along with eye-catching fonts.

I would run home with this thing every year, and my mom and I would pick whatever books I wanted. I knew who Guy of Gisborne was before my friends, and I had read about the Mutiny on the Bounty from multiple fictional perspectives. Also, Dragonlance… so good. 

None of my friends could give less of a shit about books, so it was my secret hobby. 

When I became a teen and my parents both got sick, we couldn’t afford books anymore. We couldn’t afford much of anything. To resolve this issue, I began stealing books. My middle school had a fantastic library, and I quickly realized that I could just walk out with books in my bag. Could I have checked them out with the librarian instead of being a thief? Yes, but this is that time in the article where I remind you once more that I was a sketchy white-trash kid. I did dumb shit for seemingly no reason, and I became a big fan of stealing.

This was how I discovered The Hobbit and learned about the late Roman Empire. David Macaulay showed me how castles were built, and I learned about cultures, shipbuilding, medieval siege techniques, and more. I hid in these books. Their contents were mine and mine alone, and as such, I rarely discussed them.

There has to be a part two. I have so much more to say.

Stay tuned,

JTC