When I was 15, I became very upset with Grandma and Grandpa. Don’t ask me why because I don’t remember, but I think it involved grounding me (a rare occurrence in the Rodriguez household–but that’s another story…) In any case, this egregious restriction on my life outraged me so much I decided I would run away from home.

First things first, I started pulling out my clothes from the closet but gave up until I could sneak out several pieces of luggage. Next up, my beloved books. By the time I had piled them all on my bed, I realized I had way too many books to run away from home. I could walk away from my family but never my books. So I put everything back and went on to more pressing issues, like what I would wear to school the next day.

I guess in the long run things turned out for the best, although I still have too many books to run away from home.

I haven’t counted how many books we have, and as you know there are hundreds more scattered all over and hundreds I have purged in the past few years. (I will never need to read Jean Genet again.)