If I ever do have children, it will be so I can buy and force-feed them childrens books (like this beautiful set of Roald Dahl stories) with an aplomb I never had.

As I grow older, I've tried to recapture my childhood, or at least define what it meant to me. My friends often speak of Disney movies or the games they played with their osiblings, but I never had these things, largely because I didn't want them. My only love was books, and my strongest memories are of the days I spent curled into the couch, reading Nancy Drew and the The Baby-sitters Club. I had a penchant for Archie comics, and I checked the local drugstore at least twice a week for new volumes.

In middle school, I only fell more deeply in love. I began to develop a rather proud and haughty demeanor as I read "adult" novels like those by Stephen King or Robert B. Parker. John MacDonald's old-school Travis McGee, floating on his house boat, shocked, amazed, and often bored me. Most important was Robert Crais's Elvis Cole series, which both saved me and changed my life. I still have a soft spot in my heart for these detective novels, especially those by Mr. Crais.

But it wasn't ever enough. I would visit the bookstore three or four times a week (to the horror of my mother's purse), but it wasn't enough.

If I ever do have children, I want to give them all the stories I wasn't able to reach. I want to share with them the beauty of words, and let the words show them the beauty of the world.

Here's to young love and literature, eh?