The Libraries of My Youth

Grab Bag: Oostburg Christian School library and Cedar Grove Public Library bring back memories

Last weekend I had the good fortune of traveling to southeast Wisconsin with my dad and two of my brothers. I made sure this visit to our old stomping grounds included touring the libraries of my youth. 

We met my dad's closest friend from our time in Cedar Grove. Mr. Ritsman treated us to sodas and delicious cinna-nut lattes. We merrily talked family and careers while I basked in the charm of the local coffee shop, which in our day was the bakery. After a few minutes it was time for the brothers to cruise down memory lane.

We left the gentlemen at the coffee shop and followed the drug of nostalgia on the old bus route to Oostburg, WI. In the heart of the 2500 citizen town is our old grade school, Oostburg Christian. The principal, my old sixth-grade teacher who coached my older brother and me in junior high basketball and soccer, was the only person in the building.

"Feel free to revel in the past," Mr. Adams said. If only he knew how much I do that already.

Headed to the junior high hallway, I stopped my brothers at the library. "Has it changed much?" my older brother asked. "Not a lot," I said, pointing out the subtle differences. "The librarian's desk was this way. But the book shelves are exactly the same," I said with professional confidence.

I actually don't have many positive associations with my grade school library. Failed AR reading tests and months-long fines instead come to mind. The real reading magic came--and even then I resisted it--in the classroom during open reading time, when the students were free to select a book from the shelf. Still, the library was a central presence of literature at OCS, where the "beaners" (our affectionate term for kindergarteners) and big kids alike checked out books to take home.

Filled with memories of the past, my brothers and I drove back to Cedar Grove to get pizza with dad. We were told our pizza would be ready in 20-25 minutes. I knew exactly where I wanted to spend the next half hour. “Let’s take a walk,” I suggested, “and sort of go up the hill.”

We made it to the library in several short minutes and immediately began reminiscing about our many afternoons playing roller hockey in the parking lot. “Did you play with us?” Josh, my older brother asked. “Yeah,” I said, my eyes sparkling with memory, “I played defense.”

I stepped into the library and immediately began marking my mental check-list. Play area, check. Community room, check. Give-a-puzzle-take-a-puzzle corner, double-check.

I scanned the adult fiction titles, and when nothing caught my eye I found myself saying, “I’m ready when you guys are.” It’s not that the library was boring or a let-down. But I had to admit the real trove of nostalgia was in a building across town. What once had been the Cedar Grove Public Library changed to a Variety Store, then to another business altogether. I’d looked at the one-story building longingly as we drove into town, knowing it was a shell of the majestic establishment it once was.

With a passion for literature as fierce as my own, it’s easy to put too much stock in libraries. Although they are a sign of literary health in a community, it’s sometimes, but not always where the real reading magic begins. It can never beat the feeling of hearing your favorite bedtime story on grandma’s knee. Or of learning your letters from Kermit the Frog. Nor can it match the thrill of pulling your not yet discovered favorite book from the shelf during reading time at school. However, libraries raise our awareness toward creativity and the magic of the world around us, and for the libraries of my youth, I am thankful.