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Last week was the first meeting of the new “Father-Son Book Group” at the Hillsboro Public Library, where I work as a substitute Reference Librarian and, starting now, as a once-a-month book group host.  Here’s what I’ve learned so far: 

It will take a while to get going:   Our first meeting drew only two dads and two sons (both age nine).  We had many people asking about the program and checking out the book of the month (Frindle), but it will be a challenge to actually draw them in on a Saturday morning.  All four promised to return next month, and their homework is to find some more people to bring along.    

Reading is not as uncool as it used to be:   I was all prepared to get things started with my sad childhood stories of how I never talked about reading with anyone but my family because it was so uncool to be a boy reader…but it wasn’t really necessary with this bunch.  These four all had no problem being reading males…as one of the boys said:  “you can’t lose at reading.”  We just need to find more guys like them. 

Harry Potter rules the world:   Our Frindle discussion was peppered with references to Harry Potter (one book that I didn’t include on my Frindle Read-Alikes handout).  The HPs provide common ground to so many diverse readers.  Dads and kids all knew them well, and used them as reference points.  “Did the illustrations of Nick match your imagination?”  “No, and neither did Snape in the Harry Potter movies.”  “There wasn’t a lot of life or death action in Frindle, but was it exciting?”  “Yes, but not in the same way as the Harry Potter books.”  “Did Nick or Mrs. Granger change through the events in Frindle?”  “Yes, just like Harry and company.”  I’m exaggerating the abruptness of the transition….we really did talk a lot about Frindle, and HP provided some useful context that helped us define and think about the book we just read. 

Dads and Sons See Things Differently:   I really enjoyed the way both fathers were willing participants in the discussion, rather than leaders or facilitators. And the generational perspectives were clearly evident.  Mrs. Granger reminded one boy of a teacher he knew about who was known for being very strict.  Dad, on the other hand, added that this particular teacher was also one of the best at his son’s school, despite or because of that strictness.  Which is a great example of the two relating the book to their different perspectives on shared experiences.  

Dads and Sons See Things Similarly:   One boy didn’t see why the neighborhood entrepreneur made a fortune from Frindle products, when it was all Nick’s idea.  I expected the older and wiser fathers to mention something about the crucial role of marketing in a capitalist society.  But instead, one of the dads totally agreed that the money that guy made was unfair, then shared his own irritation at modern hip hop musicians who lift samples from the works of truly creative musicians, and then get all the credit.     

Don’t Forget the Donut Holes:   Our snack choice was donut holes, and I bought more than enough, since I didn’t know how many people would show up.  It was pretty impressive how many of these the four participants (especially the two younger ones) managed to put away.  Providing snacks is one of my least favorite program related tasks, and I felt a bit guilty about not coming up with some clever food that relates to the book somehow, but I think I’ll be okay.  I don’t foresee any complaints from these readers if it’s donut holes every time. 

It’s Nice to Have Room to Grow:  Our attendance was low, but the participants were so enthusiastic that I can’t help but think that we’ll grow.  There doesn’t seem to be many book groups like this, but there might be soon.  Author Marc Aronson started one at the Maplewood Library in New Jersey a few years ago and wrote a nice article about it and the Geneva Public Library in Illinois has “The Round Table,” which is for boys plus an adult of any gender.  And Scott County Public Library’s “Pig Skulls” book club looks like terrific fun, as you can see from their blog.  As for our Hillsboro group:  no catchy title yet, and we’re a ways away from a blog, but I’m definitely looking forward to hearing what the guys think about Weasel next month.     

I struggled with a children’s reference question yesterday.  A middle schooler and his mom were looking for a science project related to the aerodynamics of an arrow’s flight.  I searched our catalog, plus a couple of subscription databases, then decided to head to the reference section to consult our copy of Science Experiments for Young People.  Except I couldn’t find it.  It wasn’t just the book I couldn’t locate, though.  The whole reference section was missing.  Just about where the R500’s used to be I spotted a half-dozen Large Type Barbara Cartland books and realized that something was definitely not right.  Things had changed in the last month.   

Besides my full-time job, I’m also a substitute youth librarian with the Hillsboro Public Library, usually working a three hour shift every couple weeks, and the branch has just been remodeled.  Since I had worked at the other branch in early February, I hadn’t been back to this branch for four weeks.  And even though I received plenty of emails with updates on all of the changes, the one about the reference section relocation, which you’d think I would especially be alert to, didn’t stick. 

I thought about bluffing my way through it, telling them that I need to pause and further develop my search strategy, then pretend to ponder in a serious way while looking frantically out of the corner of my eye for any trace of the reference collection.  This branch is not that big…it must be around here somewhere!  But in the end I decided to come clean, and used the line that I have to rely on more than I wish:  “I actually only work here every few weeks, so let me go ask one of the regular librarians.”  And the librarian I asked very kindly showed me where the reference section is without making me feel like an idiot at all.

I’ve had other “learning experiences” as a substitute, though usually they’re more understandable.  I figured out that the non-fiction videos are interfiled with the books, and learned that cd/book combinations reside near the children’s dvd’s.  It was all covered in my training I’m sure, but you just can’t remember everything.  It’s a new feeling for me to not be the one who knows where everything is, but it’s probably healthy too.  Maybe it reminds me to look at things through the patrons’ eyes a little more.  And I have to admit that even though I’d much rather know exactly where to go and help kids as efficiently as possible, there is a certain bit of freedom in being able to say to myself:  “I need to know it all for 40 hours a week, but today I’ll just ask for help…”    

I like a good story, and appreciate eloquent writing, but the element that I seem to respond to most strongly in books is characterizations.  And I think many kids respond that way too.  In a year’s worth of children’s books, we get to meet so many very interesting people (and animals).  My favorite 2007 characters include a girl who chases chickens (The Chicken Chasing Queen of Lamar County by Janice Harrington) (I like Miss Hen a lot too), two boat-loving twins with a language of their own (Mokie and Bik by Wendy Orr), a girl who masters a Neil Diamond song on an organ (A Crooked Kind of Perfect by Linda Urban), and a dog who serves in the Vietnam War (Cracker by Cynthia Kadohata).     

My favorite character of the year is nine year old Lenny, from Kate Banks’ Lenny’s Space.  On the outside, Lenny’s a disturbance in class, a minor trial to his mother, either made fun of or ignored by his classmates, and a challenge to his therapist.  But readers, and to some degree all of the others, get to know him better.  Banks does a marvelous job of getting us into Lenny’s head so we understand the thought process behind his behaviors, and it really rings true.  He gets in trouble for yelling at a library book when he’s supposed to know better.  But he yells because he’s angry at the red blood cells he’s reading about…the same kind of cells that are threatening the life of his best friend.  This is a marvelous book, and I think Lenny is a character they’ll find interesting and memorable, as I did.    

The only thing is, it’s a lot easier to describe plots than characters to kids who are looking for reading recommendations.  Lenny’s Space is about a misfit boy and the sad thing that happens to his friend, but there’s really so much more to it.  In some other books, the plot summary alone can capture most of the essence of the story in just a few words.   Phyllis Naylor’s “Boys vs. Girls” series is a breeze:  “A family of boys and a family of girls play practical jokes on each other” pretty much sells it.  On the other hand, I’ve had hardly any success in convincing kids to read Hilary McKay’s “Exiles” books.  I clearly remember trying to describe the scene in which Phoebe pretends to fish from a bucket, and why it’s so funny, and noting a polite, but increasingly baffled expression on the face of the eleven year old girl, who really just wanted a good story.  It just didn’t work; you needed to get to know Phoebe and her sisters for that scene to even make sense, let alone make you laugh.  I haven’t figured out yet how I might present Lenny’s Space to a potential reader, but it will be challenging.     

That’s okay, though.  Lenny will find readers.  After all, Hilary McKay’s readership has grown quite a bit in this country since The Exiles came out in the early 90’s.  Some of her books have shown up as state children’s choice award nominees.  Word of mouth among kids and adults must have helped.  And I also believe that youth librarians each play a small part in bringing excellent characters and worthy authors, every time we make that sometimes difficult attempt to introduce kids to unique characters, whether or not their story is instantly appealing.          

A couple weeks ago I pulled out one of my all-time favorite picture books and shared it with a group:  Fortunately by Remy Charlip.  They seemed to enjoy it.  They laughed at the right places, had some good guesses when asked “what unfortunate thing do you think he’ll find in the water?” (“Sharks?  Pirates?  Oil Spill?”)  And when Ned finally arrived at his own surprise birthday party at the end, they seemed as satisfied as most kids are every time I read the book.  The difference, though, is that this was an audience of grown ups.

One of my favorite tasks of my job in the Early Childhood Outreach department is doing educational presentations for parents.  When a Head Start or a childcare center has a Parent Night (or Parent Day, or Parent whenever), we do our best to share information about why it’s so important to read to kids and offer tips and examples on how to make the experience especially fun and effective.  So I talk some about early literacy skills and child brain development and share some impressive statistics.  And these can all be pretty powerful.  But the part when I read a book is the most fun, and it some ways it’s every bit as important as the other stuff.

I’m lucky to work with Nell Colburn, a fabulous librarian, and she’s the one who really showed me how much powerful content you can get from reading a book to the parents.  Based on observing her, I start by encouraging the parents to pretend they’re preschoolers while they listen.  Some are a bit reluctant, some don’t play along at all, and some really get into it.  All responses are okay.  But I also tell them, as Nell does, to observe with a critical eye at the same time, noticing details about how I share the book with them.  So when the book is finished, we talk about what they noticed, and they almost always catch everything:  Asking questions; talking about the words and pictures; showing enthusiasm; being a bit silly….   It’s all very relaxed and fun.  Partly because the best children’s books really work for all ages.  Also, it’s an unexpected treat for many grownups to just sit and listen to a story, even one that’s meant for kids.  Few of us get the chance to do that often enough. 

But beyond the fun, though, that experience sets the stage for the information that follows.  It’s fine to say that talking about pictures helps develop vocabulary, but when you then remind them that many of their kids might not know the words “pitchfork,” “parachute,” or “fortunate,” and show how those can lead to conversations, things really start to click.  I’ll ask how many of them could probably retell most of that story by memory after just one listen, then relate that to the importance of narrative skills.  We talk about how the experience might be different for kids if they’re hearing the story a second, or third, or tenth time, and what they learn through that repetition.

I’ve always felt more comfortable presenting to kids, rather than adults, and probably always will.  And I admit that assuming the role of “presenter- of-early-literacy-research-to-parents” took me way out of my comfort zone for a while.  But I think I’m okay with parent presentations now, and the reason should have been obvious from the start:  when in doubt, whatever the audience, read a funny story.    

I made a rash purchase at our local Goodwill store the other day.  I bought a beaver puppet that I really have no use for, and that’s not a good sign.  When you use puppets a lot, you have to watch yourself.  It’s so tempting to just buy every cool one you see.  They seem so fun at the time, but not all puppets are practical.  Or affordable. 

When I first started telling stories with puppets, almost every new puppet I added was something I really needed.  I had to have a decent farm set, some zoo/jungle guys, a cat, a dog, a mouse…Plus a spider (for Anansi), a frog and a toad (for Frog and Toad), and an assortment of people.  But after a few years of adding new ones here and there, I had a pretty workable core collection.  Then I realized I had to be careful.  My new rule became “only buy it with plans to try it.”  Meaning I could purchase only puppets that I already planned to use in a specific story.  That got me a moose (for Morris and Boris), a snake (Crictor!), and a very cool mosquito (without which Why Mosquitoes Buzz in People’s Ears would just be impossible).  At that point I was ready to slow down.  I’d still add a new one now and then, and gave fairly specific hints around birthdays, but I generally resisted temptation.  That amazing looking Llama that runs $40 or so?  No thanks, I don’t have a good llama story and it’s too big.  A fancy flamingo with a flexible neck?  Pretty, but not for me.  Things were under control. 

Then I started joining my wife on weekly runs to the local Goodwill stores.  She’s a serious bargain hunter, always on the lookout for baskets, tin containers, pants for our hard-to-fit-children, and the perfect rolltop desk for under $15.  She lives for the hunt.  I tag along sometimes and always drift over to the toys.  You’d think I’d feel a little strange picking up animal after animal and discreetly feeling for a possible hole in the bottom, but our fellow shoppers are a non-judgmental bunch:  what happens around the Goodwill bins stays around the Goodwill bins.  Usually I find no puppets at all, but when I do, they’re amazing bargains.  I got hooked when I spotted a giant frog in great condition ($45 online) for $3, and the chance of other exciting finds keeps me going back.

But now my own puppet bins, which take up a sizable portion of the laundry room, are getting a bit tight.  And I’ve been coming home with puppets I don’t really need, like that beaver, which is a fine beaver, but really no better than the beaver I already have, and don’t use that much anyway.  Or the large lion which was a terrific bargain, but exactly identical to the lion puppet I already had, and I don’t see those two ever sharing the stage together.  So I’ll probably re-donate those to the Goodwill and remind myself again that I don’t need every puppet in the world, and I especially don’t need two of every puppet.  But if someday I happen to spot just the right Ostrich puppet, with a scrunchable neck, I will not hesitate to snatch it up, knowing it will have a ready made role waiting for it as the star of How the Ostrich Got His Long Neck.

Thank you notes from kids are one of the secret fringe benefits we get in the children’s librarian world.  A class comes for a library tour, you do your usual thing, and then a couple days later a manila envelope shows up on your desk with 22 handmade thank you cards from a bunch of creative second graders.  Or maybe it’s one giant poster-size piece which each of the kids signed.  Sometimes they each say what they liked best about their visit (“the books!”  “the puppets!”  “the dead bugs in the light fixtures!”).  Or maybe one draws a picture of a giant monster strangling a child. (No, wait…I guess that’s actually a picture of me with a puppet on my hand.)  My favorite comment ever was from a sixth grader after I’d done some storytelling with puppets:  “You know, that’s quite an act you’ve got there.  You could really go somewhere with that act.”

These can make my day or even my week, and I ‘m truly grateful for the kids’ creativity and the teacher who took the time to guide them through it.  But what comes next?  I came to terms with discarding Christmas cards on December 26^th long ago, but somehow I feel these very nice creations deserve a longer life.  So where should I put them?

The actual surface of my desk is rarely visible, covered by semi-organized piles of papers, books, and miscellaneous items with nowhere else to go.  So no thank you notes there.  My file drawers are full…or if they’re not they will be as soon as I get around to filing some of those piles on my desk.  I may have a bit of wall space, but I’ve got artwork from my own kids there, and the tacks never stick very well anyway.  So that’s it.  There’s no room, they’ve served their purpose, I’ve been officially thanked…so toss them!  But not in the recycle bin.  Who knows where those might end up?  What if somehow a card I recycle somehow finds its way into the very hands of the child who created it?  It could happen!  So…the trash can.  But that means putting recyclable materials into a garbage can, triggering a whole other category of guilty feelings.  Plus it just feels wrong that these thank yous should go straight from the kids’ pencils to my garbage can.   

I’ve tried a few different strategies over the years.  For a while I pulled out the best two or three cards from each bunch, but that felt wrong…I didn’t want to hurt the feelings of the kids who made all the other cards. (I know, they would never find out, but still.)  Once I tried keeping a rotating stack on one section of my desk.  Every time I got a new batch, I would put it on top, then take the bottom-most batch and toss it.  But that took way more organizational consistency then I could ever manage.  So in the end, I usually stick them in a corner somewhere, then several months later, when I can’t exactly remember the specific event that inspired the cards, I toss them.  Somehow if they’re not “fresh,” it’s manageable.  This will have to do for now.  And I should probably be careful:  if I complain too much about it, those thank you cards might stop coming, and that’s the last thing I want to happen.

I was looking at the excellent slide show of Children’s Rooms on the Pubyac website (http://www.pubyac.org) and started thinking about how different they all are.  I’m still waiting to find (and even better, work in) the perfect children’s area.  I’ve worked mostly in four different buildings, all with pros and cons, and here’s my personal list of a few favorite (and not favorite) features:  

Slanted shelving.  I still think the single best marketing tool for a children’s book is the cover, and I love to walk in and see tons of them.  I know they require constant replenishing, but it’s worth it.  Special display furniture is great too, but face out books within the stacks is even better.  I also think picture book bins are excellent, but those never seemed to catch on the way I thought they should.  One of those features that works great for kids, not so great for grown-ups (especially staff grown-ups), and I guess the grown-ups often win out on this one.   

Limited bulletin board space.  This is just my personal phobia.  The first library I worked at had vast stretches of flat empty walls, just waiting for a craft-y librarian to fill with clever themed decorations.  I was neither craft-y nor clever, so those walls were my enemy.  I actually do think bulletin boards can add a lot, though, and I’ve been lucky to work with other staff and volunteers who are great at that sort of thing.  But if it’s ever me on my own vs. a blank wall, I’m sunk. 

Reading places.  Lots of floor space and comfortable seating for kids and grownups to enjoy books.  But not story mountains (see below).  It seems like sometimes we’re so concerned with shelving capacity that we fill up all possible spaces with shelving.  

A workable children’s desk.  Which mostly means child-height, easy to move into and out of, and not blockaded by computer screens.  I get a little picky here, because my brain likes the philosophy of the child-height idea, but my long legs strongly disagree.  At one library I simply couldn’t fit my knees under the desk until we physically removed a pencil drawer.    

And here are some features I’ve been less than crazy about:  

Story Mountain:  This was a featured highlight of one new library I worked at:  a large pile of mostly unmovable pillows, something like a pyramid of futon.  When used properly, it was a great space for casually relaxing with books and a nice seating space for class tours and storytelling.  From the kid’s point of view, however, it served as indoor trampoline, landing spot for long jumps, high jumps, and flips, and multi-layered wrestling mat.   

Austerity:  I don’t necessarily need to see castles and dragons and rainbows in a children’s room, but you should at least know you’re walking into a kids’ place.  The best rooms I’ve seen have enough fun visuals to catch the eye of a four year old, but not enough to embarrass a twelve year old.     

High Shelves:  It’s hard enough for kids to figure out where books are; when they find them and can’t reach them it’s even worse.  At one library I once shifted an entire section of 400’s and 500’s just so the dinosaur books would wind up one shelf lower.   

Computer Central:  However many computers we have, and however heavy their use, I still want people to walk in and first see the books.   

And I’ll stop at four favorites and four not-so-good, because once I start thinking about this stuff I can go on and on…

I spent quite a bit of time during a children’s desk shift last Saturday helping just  one patron.  She was an eleven year old who would think up something that interested her (Bratz dolls….Disney World…guinea pigs), then ask me to show her books on the topics, which she would look at briefly, put down, then ask for something else.  She seemed sharp enough to learn how to do this herself, but was not at all interested when I offered to show her how.  She wanted me to do it all.  And even after a half dozen or so trips to the shelves, I was fine with that.  As reference librarians, I suppose this might be seen as a missed opportunity to empower a young patron with independent skills…to teach her to fish instead of catching the fish for her, as they say.  But when kids get us working for them like this, I think there’s more going on. 

Part of it is just the comfort of having a patient, non-judgmental adult who will listen to you, show some interest, and help.  Lots of kids don’t get much of that.  It’s hard to measure or prove, but I think we children’s librarians have a significant impact on some kids’ lives when we take that role.  At the same time, I think that these kids actually are learning to do research; they’re just doing it cautiously.  They’re fascinated with the idea that there is all this great stuff in the library, but also have some hesitation, and maybe lack of confidence, about their ability to take control of it on their own yet.  Those interactions they have with us, even when we’re doing the work that they might be doing, can be like trial runs.  After enough of these, they gradually feel confident that there’s someone who will help them find stuff and also treat them with respect and patience. When they’re ready to ask for more complex guidance as they experiment with their own research, they will. 

My favorite example of this is Julian, one of my favorite long-time patrons a few years ago.  He would drop by every afternoon to have us look up and place holds on videos (Jackie Chan and Arnold Schwarzenegger) and/or hip hop cd’s (Ludacris and Nelly).  He would look at the screen while I did my searching, watching every minute, but never once trying on his own.  After a while he would tell me exactly what to type and offer alternate search strategies when he felt I wasn’t zeroing in quickly enough.  But still he always wanted me to do it.  Then at some point he stopped dropping by the desk every day.  I’d see him in the library still, though; I think he had simply decided he was ready to go it alone.  A while later I had to smile when I watched him in action at the catalog, enthusiastically explaining to a classmate the difference between keyword and browse searching.  Julian never let me teach him a thing directly, but he learned all he needed to in his own way…and then he showed someone else. 

Weekly storytimes have always been one of my favorite things about being a children’s librarian, except for one part:  fingerplays.  Yes, I understand the importance of fingerplays for developing motor skills.  And yes, they foster early literacy skills, vary the rhythm of the session, give kids a chance to participate, and all that.  And I have a great time with some fingerplays.  It’s just that I always find myself going back to the same old favorites, time after time, year after year. 

Like “Where is Thumbkin.”  It can’t be beat.  It has a tune even I can sing, it’s repetitive but not too repetitive, and you can have fun with variations.  My favorite version involves using a deep voice for Tall Man, a high squeaky voice for Pinky, a lively “zoop!” after each “run and hide,” and a curtain call at the end where all ten characters come out for “bows,” “kisses,” and  a group hug.  And I have a handful of other favorites that I probably rely on way too much. 

But many of the standard fingerplays just don’t interest me much. Web and book searches turn up endless varieties of “five little whatevers” and “my fingers can do this or that,” but most just seem lame.  The kids don’t mind when I repeat, of course, and it does reinforce all those important skills, but I always feel guilty for not continually finding new fingerplay treasures to mix in with the old stuff; the way it works with books. 

I’ve tried making up my own fingerplays, but these are either as boring as the ones I’ve already rejected, or simply inappropriate for a preschool storytime setting.  Like the time I tried to create one for a November session, but it just came out all wrong. Maybe because my own children and I had just turned vegetarian and were having a hard time getting excited about the coming holiday: 

“Five little turkeys knocking at the door / One got its head chopped off and that left four! / Four little turkeys walking by a tree. / ‘Bang!’ went the shotgun and that left three! / Three little turkeys wondering what to do. / One was stuffed and cooked and that left two! / Two little turkeys trying to have some fun. / The butcher got his carving knife and that left one! / One little turkey tried to run and hide. / But it was Thanksgiving, so all the turkeys died!”  Probably a good thing I never tried this one with any kids besides my own.  And in the end I guess I’ll stick to my own standards, but on the rare occasions I hear someone say “I just found a great new fingerplay” I always take notice. 

Over the years I’ve recommended a lot of books to kids.  Too many to keep track of, but I kind of I wish I had, just to see which ones I’ve suggested most often.  It’s always great to tell a reader about an exciting new book, though I admit that more often I stick to tried and true favorites.  I may have recommended Fantastic Mr. Fox dozens of times, but it’s still a discovery for the child who has never met Messrs. Bunce, Boggis and Beane.  “Ramona” and “Henry Huggins” continue to work twenty years after I first recommended them (and fifty plus years after they debuted).  And although I’m not always successful, I try to push “The Chronicles of Prydain” every chance I get (and will staunchly continue to do so). 

But if I had kept a numerical total of every book I’ve recommended, I’m sure the clear winner would be My Father’s Dragon by Ruth Gannett.  It’s almost always the first book I try with a parent who’s just starting with chapter book read-alouds and wants ideas.  And it works equally well for second or third graders who are just ready to start reading fiction on their own.  This book has it all.  You can describe it in one sentence:  “a boy named Elmer Elevator tries to rescue a baby dragon from the animals on Wild Island.”  And in that sentence you show that it’s magical (dragon), exciting (Wild Island), and funny (you can’t say “Elmer Elevator” without smiling).  With a little more time you can mention some of the stuff Elmer brings along to help him with the rescue:  hair ribbons and chewing gum, for example, to really get them intrigued.  Or mention that the reason he wants to rescue the dragon is that he’s always wanted to fly.  The look of the book also helps, with short chapters, large print, and pictures on most pages.  The illustrations are kind of unusual, and that helps too…they let you know this book is a little bit different.  The only drawback is that the sequel, Elmer and the Dragon, isn’t as good.  But I usually mention that (“not quite as exciting, but still good”), and then add that the third one, The Dragons of Blueland, is excellent.  There’s the three-books-in-one edition nowadays, which is okay, but I especially like the original single volume, where the length won’t daunt the new reader (or the new-to-chapter-book-read-alouds parents).  I also get a kick out of knowing what a good time the reader(s) will have with this amazing little book that’s nearly 60 years old.  I’d be interested to hear what titles top the most-often-recommended-books of others….? 

I’m Steven Engelfried, ALSC member and Children’s Librarian in the Early Childhood Outreach Department of Multnomah County Library.  And I’m a Children’s Deskaholic.  It all started with my first children’s librarian job, with the Alameda County Library in
California.  I was fresh out of library school, nervous about story times, clueless about partnerships…but on my first shift at the children’s desk, a child wanted a rain forest book.  I found two for him!  He was happy.  I felt great.  And I’ve been hooked on the children’s desk ever since.  Reference interviews, homework help, reader’s advisory.  I loved it all.  Sure, there were downsides to the desk too.  Truly impossible school assignments.  Multi-hour shifts without a break.  And maybe over the years I cleaned up one too many baby/toddler “accidents.”  But most of the time, the Children’s Desk was one of the best places to be.

About a year ago, I started a new job.  It’s a good job.  A cool job.  An important job.  And I really like it.  But for the first time in 20+ years, I don’t work at a children’s desk.  Ever.  And it’s been rough.  I get these cravings to answer questions that watching Jeopardy or doing crossword puzzles just doesn’t fill.  I’ll read a new book that I know Gail Carson Levine and Patricia Wrede fans will love (Dragon Slippers) and have no Levine and Wrede fans to recommend it to (other children’s librarians and my daughter don’t count).  But I get by.  I take it one day at a time.  My family supports me when they can.  Like every once in a while my daughter will pretend she can’t find the book she’s been reading, and I’ll eagerly do a “shelf check,” search all the possible places, track it down for her, and finish with a “I hope this gives you the information you need, and if not, please let me know.”  Or my wife will ask me to recommend a good humorous book for third graders, and I do (“have you tried Clementine yet?”).  But I know it’s just a pity request because she doesn’t think third grade humor is nearly as funny as I do.  They mean well, but I still want the real thing. 

So finally, after about a year off the desk, I decided to be an occasional substitute librarian at the Hillsboro Public Library, in my own home neighborhood.  In my first half hour on the children’s desk I helped a grandma find “that book where the girl has a fight with her teacher” (Lilly’s Purple Plastic Purse), showed two boys where the football books were, and worked with a girl looking for “poems from different cultures.”  And all was right with the world.  It’s only a couple of shifts a month, but I think it will be just enough to cure my desk withdrawal symptoms.  Has anyone else left the public desk and missed it the way I have?  Or do you just leave and never look back?