This is my first draft of the essay. It was too long for the essay contest. I could only write 2000 words. Thanks for allowing me to have so much fun. Karean
How the Library Changed My Life
I grew up in a small village in somewhat rural Western Pennsylvania called Woods Run just outside of Pittsburgh. Woods Run did not have a neighborhood grammar school, so all the children from the fourth to sixth grades had to walk about 2 miles to a little school called Halls Grove. During the spring and fall, the long walks to Halls Grove were so beautiful. During the spring the hillsides were filled with blooming forsythias, the bright yellow flowers swayed in the wind and looked as though a bright yellow flame had caught on to the blossoms. As we walked to school, the little posse would look for the new wildflowers-- the trillions and violets and awed at the colors of the variegated climbing ivy. In the fall, we would marvel at the trees as they turned to gold and flaming fuchsias.
At Halls Grove, Mrs. Fassel was the sixth grade homeroom teacher and librarian. She was a plump lady with blonde hair who smelled of cloves when she got close to you. She was a kindly lady who never seemed ruffled or out of sorts with the antics of the sixth graders. Mrs. Fassel seated the class in alphabetical order just like her books. Every morning with out fail she would call every one us by our last then first name. Needless to say, I did not like my last name, which is the color Brown. I can still hear her calling the student who sat next to me “Black, Ruth.” Now Ruth was as white as a sheet with long straight light yellow hair and eyes so light blue and clear they looked like tiny pools of clear water. When Mrs. Fassel called Ruth, Ruth never flinched, she just yelled, “Present.” I tried to hide behind my hands, as I got ready for my assault, “Brown, Karean.” It sounded so loud it felt as though everyone in Woods Run could hear her. “Present” I just wanted to duck under the table because I am indeed a brown person with dark brown eyes. I could hear the silent giggles from the students who knew I hated to be called a “Brown, Karean” which they taunted me with “careen around the corner” and “Mrs. Brown went to town with her britches upside down.” I have never outgrown the taunts.
One bright and sunny day, after Mrs. Fassel had drawn the large window shades down and the room took on a warm creamy amber hue Mrs. Fassel walked slowly to the bookshelves. She ran her fingers over the books as though looking for just the right one. She hummed quietly to herself when she happened upon it; she took the book from the stack then walked slowly back to her desk, leafing through the pages. She settled in to her chair almost as though she had a secret to tell us. We watched her with quiet anticipation. What she did next just about caused my mind to take off to another dimension. “Today,” she started, “I am going to read Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain.” After that afternoon, I never missed another day of school. I could not wait to get to school, lunch, recess and Tom Sawyer. My mind would float away to the sunny warm days of Missouri and the antics of Tom and Huck. I would dream about them when I slept. We—the posse--would talk about them as we walked to school. To make matters worse, when she finished Tom Sawyer, she started with Huckleberry Finn. Then, she started reading about the Norse mythology. She made the gods, Thor, Odin and Loki seem so big, real and alive that for years the sound of thunder and lightning scared me to death. I would imagine the gods were fighting with each other throwing bolts of lightning just to keep us earthlings humble. She took us to far places with Eric the Great—I think Ms. Fassel was Norwegian because we were always studying about Norway. But, she made sure to give us a dose of the Greek gods too.
Then, one day after she had gotten us addicted to her reading ways she stopped just like she started. It seems as though I was the only one who started to whine because I was so addicted to her voice and the stories she loved to read. She told me to get a book and start to read to myself. I simply stood in front of the bookcases and starred with my lip shot out in complete abandon, I was weaned to quickly from her reading ways. Finally, she put her hand on my shoulder and led me around in front of the stacks of books for a while then, “you might like this” she gave me a play to read. I don’t remember the play, but I was addicted to the images that played on the stage in my head. Laboriously, I read the first book “bang” I was hooked again. I could not put the plays down I read every one in her library and thirsted for more. After I finished a play, she would give me another then another. I could not get enough of the images that played in my head and did mighty things.
One day out of the blue, Mrs. Fassel said we are going for a walk. We started to walk toward my home, but just as we crossed Brighton Road there was a little dark yellow public library just next to the Rexall drug store. She and the other librarians gave each of the children a library card. I thought I had hit the “Irish Lottery” I was so proud of my library card. That day the little "Brown" girl from Woods Run life changed from a whiny, lonely, and meek child who grew up to become a well read adult. I am certain that without Mrs. Fassel’s introduction to the classics and the welcoming atmosphere of the little Woods Run Library—I tried to read every book in that little library too. I would never have aspired to the heights of my education today. Never would I, the little "Brown" girl from Woods Run, have dreamed of becoming a college professor who has the opportunity every day to spark a student’s attention that makes positive changes in the world.
I grew up in a small village in somewhat rural Western Pennsylvania called Woods Run just outside of Pittsburgh. Woods Run did not have a neighborhood grammar school, so all the children from the fourth to sixth grades had to walk about 2 miles to a little school called Halls Grove. During the spring and fall, the long walks to Halls Grove were so beautiful. During the spring the hillsides were filled with blooming forsythias, the bright yellow flowers swayed in the wind and looked as though a bright yellow flame had caught on to the blossoms. As we walked to school, the little posse would look for the new wildflowers-- the trillions and violets and awed at the colors of the variegated climbing ivy. In the fall, we would marvel at the trees as they turned to gold and flaming fuchsias.
At Halls Grove, Mrs. Fassel was the sixth grade homeroom teacher and librarian. She was a plump lady with blonde hair who smelled of cloves when she got close to you. She was a kindly lady who never seemed ruffled or out of sorts with the antics of the sixth graders. Mrs. Fassel seated the class in alphabetical order just like her books. Every morning with out fail she would call every one us by our last then first name. Needless to say, I did not like my last name, which is the color Brown. I can still hear her calling the student who sat next to me “Black, Ruth.” Now Ruth was as white as a sheet with long straight light yellow hair and eyes so light blue and clear they looked like tiny pools of clear water. When Mrs. Fassel called Ruth, Ruth never flinched, she just yelled, “Present.” I tried to hide behind my hands, as I got ready for my assault, “Brown, Karean.” It sounded so loud it felt as though everyone in Woods Run could hear her. “Present” I just wanted to duck under the table because I am indeed a brown person with dark brown eyes. I could hear the silent giggles from the students who knew I hated to be called a “Brown, Karean” which they taunted me with “careen around the corner” and “Mrs. Brown went to town with her britches upside down.” I have never outgrown the taunts.
One bright and sunny day, after Mrs. Fassel had drawn the large window shades down and the room took on a warm creamy amber hue Mrs. Fassel walked slowly to the bookshelves. She ran her fingers over the books as though looking for just the right one. She hummed quietly to herself when she happened upon it; she took the book from the stack then walked slowly back to her desk, leafing through the pages. She settled in to her chair almost as though she had a secret to tell us. We watched her with quiet anticipation. What she did next just about caused my mind to take off to another dimension. “Today,” she started, “I am going to read Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain.” After that afternoon, I never missed another day of school. I could not wait to get to school, lunch, recess and Tom Sawyer. My mind would float away to the sunny warm days of Missouri and the antics of Tom and Huck. I would dream about them when I slept. We—the posse--would talk about them as we walked to school. To make matters worse, when she finished Tom Sawyer, she started with Huckleberry Finn. Then, she started reading about the Norse mythology. She made the gods, Thor, Odin and Loki seem so big, real and alive that for years the sound of thunder and lightning scared me to death. I would imagine the gods were fighting with each other throwing bolts of lightning just to keep us earthlings humble. She took us to far places with Eric the Great—I think Ms. Fassel was Norwegian because we were always studying about Norway. But, she made sure to give us a dose of the Greek gods too.
Then, one day after she had gotten us addicted to her reading ways she stopped just like she started. It seems as though I was the only one who started to whine because I was so addicted to her voice and the stories she loved to read. She told me to get a book and start to read to myself. I simply stood in front of the bookcases and starred with my lip shot out in complete abandon, I was weaned to quickly from her reading ways. Finally, she put her hand on my shoulder and led me around in front of the stacks of books for a while then, “you might like this” she gave me a play to read. I don’t remember the play, but I was addicted to the images that played on the stage in my head. Laboriously, I read the first book “bang” I was hooked again. I could not put the plays down I read every one in her library and thirsted for more. After I finished a play, she would give me another then another. I could not get enough of the images that played in my head and did mighty things.
One day out of the blue, Mrs. Fassel said we are going for a walk. We started to walk toward my home, but just as we crossed Brighton Road there was a little dark yellow public library just next to the Rexall drug store. She and the other librarians gave each of the children a library card. I thought I had hit the “Irish Lottery” I was so proud of my library card. That day the little "Brown" girl from Woods Run life changed from a whiny, lonely, and meek child who grew up to become a well read adult. I am certain that without Mrs. Fassel’s introduction to the classics and the welcoming atmosphere of the little Woods Run Library—I tried to read every book in that little library too. I would never have aspired to the heights of my education today. Never would I, the little "Brown" girl from Woods Run, have dreamed of becoming a college professor who has the opportunity every day to spark a student’s attention that makes positive changes in the world.
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