I was somewhere between my ninth and tenth birthdays and I was a happy child. I came from a solid blue-collar home, my parents loved me, I had a great brother, six years my senior, who was my mentor and my protector. Our modest home was tucked into a horseshoe corner of Flushing, New York that had fifty kids or more living in a six-block radius. My yard backed up to a cemetery (more on that another day). My gang was a dozen or so boys and girls, all within a birthday or two of each other. As the years passed, one or two would come and go but the core, ahh the core remained the same and grew stronger.
I was not a great reader and by that, I mean that I didn’t read a lot. I did read well, always several grades above my current one. School was easy for me, I know I was fortunate that things came easy, I never had to work too hard and always had great grades. I was a lucky kid and the world was my oyster.
It was against this background that I first read John Knowles’, A Separate Peace. The initial friendship between Gene and Finny could have been any two of my friends. As their circle grew and pitfalls were placed in their way, they eventually pulled together and their friendship rose above everything.
Spoiler coming –
Then, Finn died.
That book brought me face to face with mortality; mine, and all of my friends. I don’t know that I ever consciously wasted negative emotions from that day forward. It would be several years before I would have to deal with that actually, but it was that book, that shock, that I will never forget. I cried when Finn died, and even though I knew the book was fiction, I cried because I also knew it was possible.
That writer, Mr. Knowles, was able to move me in so many different directions emotionally, that all these years later his impact on my life is still relevant. If you want to know why I read, why I write, I believe the root of the desire, is there.
I haven’t tried to read that book again but I’ve just added it to my 2020 list.