Vacation in Books

 

Way back in the last century, I think maybe a decade ago, a letter written to the Chicago Tribune by a mother living in one of the nearby rural counties complained about the fact that her daughter had been assigned to read a book over the summer between eighth and ninth grades. Not a specific book, just a book. The mother carped that this was going to ruin her child's summer vacation.

Well, what a flurry of protest that generated. Sure, there was a letter or two that questioned the authority of educators over children between school terms. But most of the letters expressed outraged that the mother could be so stupid, first to object to the school policy and second to write a letter underscoring her stupidity. Some writers suggested that the child should be taken away from her mothers. Others agreed and opined that such a move might occur post-mortem. But one writer, a former teacher, cut through all of the palaver with a simple comment. She said, I always thought reading a book was a vacation.

Right on, sister! Reading is indeed a time away from the world, a journey of exploration into one's own mind, stimulation of one’s unique human powers of imagination and reflection. I rue the fact that I spend so much time every day with words, perusing the news wires and writing about current events, that picking up a book is not where I find relaxation in my off hours, at least not often enough.

And then last week I trekked East for a business meeting and some time with my father. Being that I was trapped with a coupla hunnert strangers in an aluminum cylinder for many hours, that the meeting was only forty minutes, and my father and I can only take so much time together, I wound up with the time to devour a stack of books. Novels, to be precise, some even highly-regarded; five in four days. Now that's a vacation.

And that’s SetonnoteS...I’m Tony Seton.

 

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