When we were kids my mother always used to take us to the library. The weekend staple. If it was Saturday morning, it was a trip to the library. Even though we were seriously into Enid Blyton (remember her?) after a while the library was boring. But I suppose for parents, getting the kids close to works of great literature brings the snotty little darlings one step closer to greatness. Or at least that’s the hope.
Fast forward two a couple of decades and now it is me taking my parents to the library. ‘Come on Dad, let’s go to the library’. Libraries are still fantastic places and seriously under-rated. On any Sunday morning just before opening time, there is a conga line of oldies, all queued up waiting for the doors to open. It’s like a nightclub for seniors, or day-club to be accurate. All day club for some of them. Good luck getting your hands on a Sunday paper at the library on a Sunday. It’s akin to watching a plague of locusts swarming through the joint stripping it of every kind of print media available. Take a stick because you’ll have to beat them off if you want to get to a paper first.
What will they do when there are no Sunday dailies?
The other thing about the library of course, is that it’s warm. In a Canberra winter when we need to save on our power bills, the library is the obvious place to keep warm at the government’s expense. It is a public service after all.
Libraries could make a fortune if they started branching out and having cafes and hairdressing on the side and don’t forget chiropody services. I predict they’d do a roaring trade in blue rinses and coffee and cake specials.
But back to my parents. The roles have been reversed and now it’s my suggestion we go to the Library. If you want your parents to pick up good habits – you have to set the example.
Ahem. My work here is done.