by Rusty Mitchum
After readin’ all this junk I write, you wouldn’t think, as a kid, I would have been a book reader, but you’d be wrong. I loved books, well some books. My mom and sister taught me to read back when I was four years old, and I‘ve been readin’ ever since. I know what you are thinkin’. You’re thinkin’ that if I’ve read so much, why do I have such bad grammar, right? Well, I couldn’t answer that. You‘d have to talk to my many English teachers, many of which spin in their graves every time one of my stories comes out. I write like I talk. Deal with it. Anywho, back to books.
Durin’ the summer months, I spent most of my days outside playin’; somethin’ kids today don’t know anything about. We fished, swam, threw dirt clods and sticker burrs, climbed trees, rode horses, shot BB guns, and generally had a wonderful time, but once every couple of weeks, my momma would drive my sister Teri and me to the public library. She’d drop us off and come back in a couple of hours to pick us up. I loved the library. It was dark, cool, and it smelled of books; thousands of books; thousands of adventures. I always looked forward to seein’ the librarian, too, although, I do not think the feeling was mutual. I remember one time in particular.
After readin’ all this junk I write, you wouldn’t think, as a kid, I would have been a book reader, but you’d be wrong. I loved books, well some books. My mom and sister taught me to read back when I was four years old, and I‘ve been readin’ ever since. I know what you are thinkin’. You’re thinkin’ that if I’ve read so much, why do I have such bad grammar, right? Well, I couldn’t answer that. You‘d have to talk to my many English teachers, many of which spin in their graves every time one of my stories comes out. I write like I talk. Deal with it. Anywho, back to books.
Durin’ the summer months, I spent most of my days outside playin’; somethin’ kids today don’t know anything about. We fished, swam, threw dirt clods and sticker burrs, climbed trees, rode horses, shot BB guns, and generally had a wonderful time, but once every couple of weeks, my momma would drive my sister Teri and me to the public library. She’d drop us off and come back in a couple of hours to pick us up. I loved the library. It was dark, cool, and it smelled of books; thousands of books; thousands of adventures. I always looked forward to seein’ the librarian, too, although, I do not think the feeling was mutual. I remember one time in particular.
Teri and I were haulin’ in the books that we had checked out on the previous visit.
“Well, hello Teri,” the librarian said. Did you enjoy your books?”
“Yes Ma’am,” Teri replied.
“That’s good. Are you by yourself today?”
“No Ma’am. Rusty is with me. He’s outside stomping worms on the sidewalk.” About that time, I walked in.
“Howdy!” I said and slapped my books on the counter. “Man, y’all’ve got a serious worm problem out there.”
“Hello Rusty,” she said coolly. “Am I going to have to warn you to be quiet this week?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Hey, if I bring a can up here, would you collect those worms for me. I just got to thinkin’ that I could use them for bait.”
She smiled. “I really do not have time to collect worms for you,” she said. “Now, let me have a look at your books.”
“You don’t have to,” I said. “I didn’t put any butterflies or leaves in them. I remembered what you told me last time.”
“Good for you,” she said, “but let me check them just in case.”
“Okay,” I replied. “Hey, did you get any more books about Davy Crockett?”
“No Rusty, we only have the one book. This one, the one you brought back.”
“Well, can I check it out again, or you gonna make me wait until next time again.”
“You know the rules. You have to turn it in to give someone else a chance to read it.”
“Okay,” I said. “You got any new ghost story books?”
“No,” she replied.
“You got anything that you think I might like?”
“Well, we have several books on Daniel Boone.”
“No thank you,” I said. “He’s just a Davy Crockett wanna be.” She looked up at me.
“Daniel Boone came before Davy Crockett, you know,” she said.
“Did he fight in the Alamo?”
“No,” she replied.
“Well, then I don’t want to read about him.”
“Okay,“ she said as she checked my books.
“You got any new Tarzan books?” I asked.
“No,” she replied and then looked up at me. “You know, I think you’d like the Hardy Boys.”
“Are they in here?”
“No, I mean the series.”
“Who do they play for?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What’d you do?”
“I don’t follow you.”
“You said I beg your pardon, and usually when somebody says that, then they musta done somethin’.”
She sighed heavily. “You asked who the Hardy Boys played for and I did not understand why you asked that,” she explained.
“Oh! Well, you said they were in the series, and I figured you meant the World Series, so I was askin’ who they played for.”
“No,” she sighed. “I meant it was a series of books about a couple of brothers that solve mysteries.”
“What kind of mysteries?”
“You’ll have to read the books to find that out,” she smiled.
“Do they shoot bad guys?”
“No.”
“Do they swing on grapevines?”
“No.”
“Did they fight at the Alamo?”
“No.”
“Do they dress up like ghosts and scare people?”
“Look,” she said. “Forget I said anything. Why don’t you go look around and see if anything interests you?”
“Yes Ma’am, but if any good books come in while I’m lookin’ around, and you think I might like them, let me know.”
“I’ll be sure to do that,” she smiled.
As I walked away, something fell out of one of my books and the librarian screamed.
“What is that?” she asked pointing at the object.
I walked back and looked. There on the counter was a road flattened dried toad frog. I picked it up.
“There you are,” I said to the toad frog.
“Thanks,” I said to the library lady. “That’s my book mark.”
You know, librarians sure are squeamish bunch.
“Well, hello Teri,” the librarian said. Did you enjoy your books?”
“Yes Ma’am,” Teri replied.
“That’s good. Are you by yourself today?”
“No Ma’am. Rusty is with me. He’s outside stomping worms on the sidewalk.” About that time, I walked in.
“Howdy!” I said and slapped my books on the counter. “Man, y’all’ve got a serious worm problem out there.”
“Hello Rusty,” she said coolly. “Am I going to have to warn you to be quiet this week?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Hey, if I bring a can up here, would you collect those worms for me. I just got to thinkin’ that I could use them for bait.”
She smiled. “I really do not have time to collect worms for you,” she said. “Now, let me have a look at your books.”
“You don’t have to,” I said. “I didn’t put any butterflies or leaves in them. I remembered what you told me last time.”
“Good for you,” she said, “but let me check them just in case.”
“Okay,” I replied. “Hey, did you get any more books about Davy Crockett?”
“No Rusty, we only have the one book. This one, the one you brought back.”
“Well, can I check it out again, or you gonna make me wait until next time again.”
“You know the rules. You have to turn it in to give someone else a chance to read it.”
“Okay,” I said. “You got any new ghost story books?”
“No,” she replied.
“You got anything that you think I might like?”
“Well, we have several books on Daniel Boone.”
“No thank you,” I said. “He’s just a Davy Crockett wanna be.” She looked up at me.
“Daniel Boone came before Davy Crockett, you know,” she said.
“Did he fight in the Alamo?”
“No,” she replied.
“Well, then I don’t want to read about him.”
“Okay,“ she said as she checked my books.
“You got any new Tarzan books?” I asked.
“No,” she replied and then looked up at me. “You know, I think you’d like the Hardy Boys.”
“Are they in here?”
“No, I mean the series.”
“Who do they play for?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What’d you do?”
“I don’t follow you.”
“You said I beg your pardon, and usually when somebody says that, then they musta done somethin’.”
She sighed heavily. “You asked who the Hardy Boys played for and I did not understand why you asked that,” she explained.
“Oh! Well, you said they were in the series, and I figured you meant the World Series, so I was askin’ who they played for.”
“No,” she sighed. “I meant it was a series of books about a couple of brothers that solve mysteries.”
“What kind of mysteries?”
“You’ll have to read the books to find that out,” she smiled.
“Do they shoot bad guys?”
“No.”
“Do they swing on grapevines?”
“No.”
“Did they fight at the Alamo?”
“No.”
“Do they dress up like ghosts and scare people?”
“Look,” she said. “Forget I said anything. Why don’t you go look around and see if anything interests you?”
“Yes Ma’am, but if any good books come in while I’m lookin’ around, and you think I might like them, let me know.”
“I’ll be sure to do that,” she smiled.
As I walked away, something fell out of one of my books and the librarian screamed.
“What is that?” she asked pointing at the object.
I walked back and looked. There on the counter was a road flattened dried toad frog. I picked it up.
“There you are,” I said to the toad frog.
“Thanks,” I said to the library lady. “That’s my book mark.”
You know, librarians sure are squeamish bunch.