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February 10, 2007
"When I Look Down, I Just Miss All the Good Stuff"
Jason was playing host to a virus this past week, so I wound up subbing for his wildly popular three-in-a-row Fun for 3's and 4's storytimes. Aside from the fact that it's been quite a few years since I was last crazy enough to attempt more than two storytimes in a morning, stepping into someone else's storytime is always a little daunting. Everyone's used to who they're used to, and preschoolers don't groove on big changes. I thought I'd spend my morning listening to three large groups of children and parents loudly complaining about Mr. Jason's absence and my sad lack of guitar skills. 'Twas all for naught, of course. People took it in stride, and a lot of them were happy to see me. Turns out a lot of the kids I've had in Toddler Times or Just for 2's have gotten bigger and are now doing their time in 3's and 4's. I even got to see one of my all-time favorite kids, a boy I first met when he was in my Toddler Times a couple years ago, back when he wouldn't make eye contact with anyone, so much as participate in activities. I had him again in my two-year-old storytimes, and, even as recently as last year, I was one of the only adults aside from his parents that he would talk to. It’s been a while, though, so when I saw him at storytime, his mother did the usual, "Oh, you remember Miss A, don't you?" He looked confused for a moment, but then he looked me straight in the eye and said, “No.”
So much for having a lasting impact on the youth in one's charge.
The day as a whole turned out to be a lesson in the unpredictability that is librarianship. Even though one child didn't remember me, many more did – including several I couldn't remember in return. It's funny how you can make a mark in people's lives without quite realizing it, and how they can make a mark in yours. There is more talk in the library world these days about how storytimes by themselves can only do so much to promote literacy. Our best hopes are to use storytimes to build a library habit and develop positive feelings about the library and books. We try to introduce families to things they wouldn't have encountered otherwise; we try to model positive literacy-building behaviors; we try to encourage the sharing of books and rhymes and music outside the library. In the end, what happens between parent and child is most likely to have the longest lasting effects.
Speaking of something lasting, later that same day, I was reminded of the sneaky, almost invisible ways we librarians impact people's lives. I had a kid who was probably about twelve come up to the desk with a pile of books he could barely hold topped off with books 10 and 11 in A Series of Unfortunate Events. He asked me for numbers 12 and 13, The Penultimate Peril and The End. When I handed him what he was looking for, this child on the edge of adolescence didn't bother to act cool: he shouted "WOO HOO" right there in the middle of the Children's Room. People turned and looked. He didn't care. He said, "Thank you," as if "WOO HOO" hadn't been enough. Librarians who purchase collections don't get to see this very often, the excitement that happens when a book you made sure would be on that shelf is exactly the thing someone’s looking for. When it's a book you love… well, that's even better. I know what it feels like to be hanging on Mr. Snicket’s every word. I love that I am enabling someone else's addiction.
Another notion running through the library world over the last decade is this idea that libraries have to justify their existence. The message is that if we can't measure and quantify the impact we have in the world, people will stop supporting us. Maybe, I guess, but how can one quantify the impact finding the right book on a particular day has in the life of a bookish child? Does the fact that a shy preschooler has forgotten me make the role I previously played in his life meaningless? Can someone who only wants to evaluate us by numbers ever really understand what libraries are about? Why do we even want to talk to those people? These questions are at the core of my profession. I think about them, but I don’t have answers. I’m in this business for a lot of reasons, but I often think I am in it most for the children I’ll never notice, the ones who never speak to the staff but, instead, browse quietly, looking for books that will help them make sense of the craziness that is our world. That’s the kind of child I was. I didn’t attend programs, I didn’t talk to adults, but I found books in libraries that changed my life. I still do. How are we supposed to measure that? We know it's going on, but it's not the sort of thing one can point to and count. Some days I’m struck by the fact that I spend my days participating in something that approaches profound, although, I have to confess, most days, I’m just grateful that the preschoolers don’t mutiny and that someone’s willing to listen to my stories.
Posted by adrienne at February 10, 2007 12:48 AM
Comments
Very often I forget that I'm a librarian, just because so often I'm just having fun with the kids and teens and I don't really think of my self as a "librarian". I'll bring out the puppets or at the spur of the moment sit and read a story to some kids. I'll chill with the middle schoolers, or talk cars with some of the seniors. Plus I get to play DDR and Guitar Hero! Sometimes my job really doesn't feel like work.
I also want people to feel like they are coming to their second home when they come into the library. We try and greet people as much as possible, and I'll walk up to people and just talk to them.
I think that's one of the greatest things about working in a small library. I have the luxury of doing things like that. However I think that I have a very different view of what a library is rather than what a library is in the traditional sense. I truly think that the library should be a community center where people can hang out and talk. To me libraries are more than books. Don't get me wrong, I love books. But I don't think that's why I became a librarian. I became a librarian because I just love people. God, five or ten years ago I would never have said that. I was terrified of people and social situations.
I guess this sort of deviated from the original subject, but I completely agree with you Adrienne. I love (and hate) that the middle/high schoolers walk right past the circulation desk and up to my desk because they want to talk to me. They want to talk to me! I get so happy to know that I've made that kind of impact on them. That they trust and like me enough to want to tell me what's going on in their lives. It lets me know that libraries are important. And you really can't quantify that kind of impact on the kids (and on me).
Have I mentioned that I love my job?
Posted by: Cathy at February 10, 2007 12:26 AM
Sometimes I really miss working in a smaller library. I get to know some kids and families in Webster, but I see sooooo many people in a given day -- so much as a week or a month or a year -- that I have a hard time just remembering kids' names, even kids I really like. When I was at Maplewood, things were somewhat slower-paced, we had a lot more kids who were in every day, and I knew more people. My desk was also in the Children's Room, so I was right there with whoever was visiting whenever the library was open. It could be frustrating to have my desk in a public space, but, mostly, I enjoyed it and it worked in that environment. It sure as heck wouldn't work in Webster, although in Webster, it's a lot easier to accomplish big projects and get involved in interesting things.
Posted by: adrienne at February 10, 2007 02:41 PM
Wow. This backs up one of my thoughts about taking my kids to the library. This is great stuff. I'm working on a post for love your library month, and I am going to link to this article. It's really lovely.
Posted by: Jennifer, Snapshot at February 13, 2007 08:04 AM