Last week David and I were walking into Troop’s Bookstore, and I remember exactly where it caught me. Right on the right-hand side as soon as you walk in, there was a children’s section that didn’t really stand out at first unless you were paying attention. But something about it made me stop anyway. It was all Little Golden Books.
I wasn’t looking for anything like that. I was just walking through the store, kind of taking my time like you do when you’re not in a hurry. And then I saw those gold spines lined up together and it was like everything else just went quiet for a second.
I started pulling a few of them out, just flipping through without thinking too much about it at first. But then I found The Poky Puppy, and Prince and Jimmy Buffet and it just kept going from there. One after another, I kept recognizing them in that way where you don’t have to remember the details for it to still feel familiar.
And that’s when it really hit me. Because it wasn’t just about the books sitting there on the shelf. It was everything that used to happen around them. I could almost see it again, just in pieces. A quiet room at the end of the day. A story from a book we all loved and couldn’t get enough of.
Somebody sitting close enough that you could lean into them without even thinking about it. A voice reading the same pages over and over because that’s what bedtime was. Not a rush. Not a checklist. Just a rhythm. No, phones and electronics just voices reading to each other.
Kids listening, even when they acted like they weren’t. Already knowing the words but still wanting them read out loud anyway. And those books getting handled so much they stopped looking new pretty quickly, but nobody ever cared because that just meant they were loved.
Standing there in that aisle, it all came back without me trying to pull it forward. Not in a heavy way. Just in a way that sits with you for a minute and makes you pause longer than you meant to. Reminding me of when both Charlie and Suzzane was little we would curl up in the bed and read books for hours on end.
I didn’t really rush through it. I just stayed there flipping through a few more, holding them, putting them back, picking them up again like I couldn’t quite decide if I was just looking or if I was supposed to take them home. And even now, I think that’s what stuck with me the most. Not that I saw them, but that I didn’t realize how quickly something that small could bring back something that big.
Thank you,
Glenda, Charlie and David Cates
