As a young girl I grew up on books. My fifth grade teacher, Jody Delay, facilitated that love of books. Every day during fifth grade I walked into a room with one wall completely lined with books. Lined. Mrs. Delay had over one thousand books in her classroom. One thousand delicious mouth-watering books. In the corner next to the never ending line of bookshelves was her rocker and from it she would read  book after book. The rocker wasn’t very big, and was white and wooden, and she would perch on it and it made her look extremely dainty.
She started the year off saying that if any of us showed such spectacular interest in a book she might give it to us. She had given a book to a student a few years before and I wanted to be gifted a book so very badly. I think in attempt I checked out The Thief Lord by Cornelia Funke practically every fortnight. She never gave me the book, but I developed a deep love for Ms. Cornelia’s story. I refuse to watch the movie on principle.
My mom had requirements about what I was allowed to do growing up, in accordance with what we believe. Mrs. Delay made special provisions so I wouldn’t have to read anything that made my mom uncomfortable. I would pick up a book, look at it and consider it, and if it didn’t fit within specifications she would gently pluck it from my hands explain to me that it wasn’t suitable and then point me in the direction of a better book. Everything about her screamed kind, from her pixie pointed long hair to her perfectly painted nails.

What really made the difference in how I saw Mrs. Delay was Spring Break. I borrowed a book a day from her and the library at that point, and I didn’t know what I would do if I was stranded for a week without any new books. Mrs. Delay sent me home with a pile of books bigger than I was. It seemed to go on forever. In reality it was probably only fifteen, and they were the heaviest thing I’d ever carried the block down my street from school. I think I only managed to read about half, but I lied and told her that I read every one. The last thing I wanted to do was have her be disappointed in me. Every time I think about what made me into the bibliophile that I am I think back to Spring Break carrying books that would’ve broken my teacher’s back and I laugh.