Some of the best parts of my childhood and young adulthood recently arrived via cross-country POD and my brother's car, carefully packed in boxes from my parent's home in Boston. The boxes arrived and I immediately immersed myself in my old books.
I read a lot these days about parents restricting their kids reading, or about parents wondering what exactly is age appropriate for their kids. I don't remember having any restrictions- if it was in the house and in a public space it was fair game. Same thing at our local library. I read everything I could get my hands on. Sometimes it was great and other times I remember being confused or perplexed by what I'd read, and that is okay.
Boxes from home brought me a copy of Tomas Takes Charge, an illustrated chapter book from the 60s that I've had since I was maybe 9 or 10, no idea where it came from but just seeing that illustrated library edition, with Tomas in his little red striped shirt on the cover, brought back memories. I remember how nervous I felt when Tomas and his sister move in to the abandoned apartment in a mostly empty building, wondering how kids my age could possibly fend for themselves. Re-reading it now, I cried at the end of the book just like I always did, when the kids find a real home with their former landlady and her husband.
And here's my copy of Hard Hearts Are for Cabbages, a novel picked up at a Connecticut diner that used to let you choose a book with your meal. It is a pleasant novel about Gypsy families in California, published in 1959, innocuous enough for a pre-teen in the late 1980s to read on a road trip back from New York.
I read Lady Chatterley's Lover long before I understood 90% of it, and haven't read it since, but I still remember how illicit it felt.
The boxes contain two copies of Ellen Raskin's The Westing Game, a book I still can't read without getting chills up my spine. They join a third copy I bought a few years back at my local bookstore.
The full series of Tales of the City, packed together in one of the boxes. The books that first introduced me to the city I now call home.
My original copies of This Boy's Life and The Bean Trees, read one summer in high school for a municipal summer reading event. Everyone in town who read the books met up at town hall and broke into small groups to discuss the books. My introductions to Tobias Wolff and Barbara Kingsolver respectively.
And then there were the less literary but still just as important books - the novelization of the movie Space Camp, Nancy Drew meets Hardy Boys mysteries, some slim volumes of teen angst I couldn't part with, the books I surrounded myself with as a kid that I can't imagine my life without.