I am 5 years old, sitting at a small round table in the library, a picture book open in front of me. It is the third time I am reading this particular book — or rather, seeing it. Reading is a strong word. I use the pictures to guide me along, skipping ahead to the next page to guess what the words will be. My mom sits beside me, hands folded patiently in her lap.
“Brown bear, brown bear, what do you see?” I peek over to the next page before saying the next line, “I see a red bird looking at me!”
The colorful pages of “Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?” continue to bring joy to five-year-old me, no matter how dull the plot and repetitive the structure. I’m sure my mom must be bored out of her mind by now, but the smile on her face refuses to show it.
Like most of my early childhood, this moment of my life is ingrained in my mind not in actual memory, but as a recording. The grainy, pixelated video is a Sayed family favorite, and one that I happily watch all the way through every time I come across it. Though I don’t remember being the little girl in the jean jacket, obsessed over one painted brown bear, it feels as though that book and that day mark some special beginning in my life.
Ever since my childhood, the library has been a constant for me. It is my happy place; somewhere I can study, read or browse the shelves endlessly. It’s a haven I can simply exist in without having to spend money or talk to anyone. In many ways, it is a home away from home.
Watching this video brings back more memories of the library than those of books and reading, though. I remember not just the comforting shelves or the sagging chairs, but the crafts and activities that my mom took my sister and I to play with when we were younger. I remember the small toys and stuffed animals scattered about, the book characters painted over the walls. I remember the kind librarian, who knew my family by name and was always happy to answer my endless questions.
Eventually, I switched out the vibrancy of my childhood library for the tall, imposing walls of college libraries. When I want to find a book, I don’t browse the short, easy-to-reach shelves the way I used to, but instead turn toward the more adult aisles to peruse. Or, more often than not, I find something in the online catalog and request the book on hold so that I can avoid the hassle of walking through the shelves at all.
I cannot remember the last picture book I read or the last time I was read to. Of course, we all have these moments of childhood nostalgia. There are a million things we all did for the last time without knowing it — things that are either impossible for us to do now or that seem that way because of social norms. There was a last time we pretended to be asleep in the car so that our parents would carry us back into the house. A last time we lost a tooth, and either did or didn’t believe we’d be left a prize in its stead. A last time we sat by our parents’ phones, anxiously awaiting the call that would mean there was a snow day tomorrow. I miss all of that, too. My memories of the library tend to hit a little harder, though, knowing that even as I continue reading and loving books, I will never get to go back in time and feel the wonder of the children’s section the way I used to.
One day, without meaning to, I grew up and out of Dr. Seuss, “Goodnight, Moon” and guessing the words of a book from its pictures. The font sizes in the novels I read have gotten smaller and smaller, and story time is no longer a part of my curriculum. But, even though time passes and the distance between me and the girl in that old video widens, I have not forgotten my roots. I still read out loud to myself sometimes, and I feel my inner 5-year-old glow with satisfaction. The child inside me, though in many ways hidden away, has not completely disappeared.
If it were not for my mom walking me to the library, letting me pick out as many books as I could carry and patiently listening as I read children’s books aloud, I may never have become the reader I am today. My love for reading began long before BookTok and long before I knew that Goodreads existed. It is bittersweet to look back on the chapters of my life that led to this one — one where I am writing about books for The Michigan Daily and scheduled to read out loud to a kindergarten class in a week.
I am beyond grateful for the libraries and books that brought me here, but I grieve for younger Amany, so enamored by reading “Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?” In spite of that, maybe I don’t need to completely say goodbye to the past. The childen’s section of the library doesn’t have an age limit and, last I heard, they don’t check ID when you want to read a picture book. Sure, the chairs might feel smaller and the shelves shorter, but the all-encompassing comfort of the library children’s section is still just the same.
Daily Arts Writer Amany Sayed can be reached at amanysay@umich.edu.
