It seems that a lot of librarians and library-lovers have a story about a librarian who made a big impression on them when they were of an impressionable age. Someone kind and gentle, or flinty and smart who made them feel accepted or intellectually stimulated. Someone who made them see the potential in the library and in themselves.

The theorist has her story of the librarians who waived her fines. thatguychuck is not a librarian, but that seven year old kid might tell a story about him some day, too.

I have no such story, no such figure in my life, though I do remember my mom explaining that I needn’t be too choosy at the library: check ‘em all out and see what sticks. But for me, it has always been the institution of the library, the collections, the freedom to browse and borrow and let my mind wander. I don’t think I knew a librarian, or had really even talked to a librarian, until I started working in a library.

For all our talk and worry about being helpful, inspiring, patron-centered librarians, we should also remember that one of the most important things we can do is make sure we don’t screw up the freedom of the reader to just be alone with a lot of interesting books.