YUCAIPA, CA – When I was about 9 or 10 in the late 1950s, my mother started taking me every Saturday morning to Zumbrota’s (Minn) Carnegie Library. Actually, she forced me to go. I hated that old library. And I hated reading.
But my mother insisted that her eldest son, who failed second grade because he fell way behind in reading, was going to become – at the very least – a passable reader.
So off to the library we would trudge on Saturdays.
I had a choice, either I could choose a book to read during the coming week, or she would do it for me.