An Ode to Librarians

When I first decided to make an account on Threads, I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into. I didn’t have a clear understanding of what the app was all about, but I knew I wanted to find spaces to connect with fellow writers and learn more about the publishing industry. Threads felt like an organic extension of the author-specific Instagram account I’d already created, so I tentatively dipped my toe in the waters of #WriterThreads and began to document my journey. 

One day while dreaming about the acknowledgements page of my work in progress and the many people I’d love to thank, my thoughts affectionately drifted back to my middle school librarian. 

Middle school was a painfully turbulent time for me after the divorce of my parents and multiple relocations in the span of a few short years. During that time, when so much of my life felt out of my control, I often found comfort in books about my favorite subject. While I’d never had a horse of my own, I could get lost in novels about them and escape into their adventures. I could imagine a world where I grew up on a farm and could see my horse grazing out my window.

I could become someone else, even if just for a day. 

When I struggled to make friends at my new school, I knew I could always go talk to our school librarian, who not only made it her mission to find me every horse book in the library but went out of her way to add more horse-related titles to her shelves, just for me. She helped make my days a little brighter and exponentially increased my bibliophile ways. 

I ended up musing about her impact on my life in a series of Threads posts that received nearly 100k views. 

Initially, I was shocked to have such spirited engagement with my posts from complete strangers. I was humbled that people would read what I had to say and give such joyful, sentimental feedback. But my surprise was soon replaced with a quiet epiphany (in truth, a no-brainer) as I read through each response. 

The common denominator - the glistening, golden thread weaved throughout each personal story - was the kindness of a librarian. 

Their stories moved me to tears. 

One librarian bought Scholastic books for a girl whose parents never bought her one. 

Another librarian let her sixth grade student keep the pivotal book that ignited her love for reading again. The student spoke of its frayed edges and binding falling apart, but that it was still the most beloved book in her collection.

One woman spoke about the community librarian cherished by her young son, and how he learned to say her name right after saying “Mama” and “Dada” when she read him his favorite stories. 

Librarians chimed in with words of gratitude, expressing their love for the children they served and their sincere hope that they could make a difference somehow. 

A few posts encouraged me to find my librarian and tell her what she’d meant to me. Some educators and librarians chimed in that receiving a letter like that from a former student would mean the world to them. I immediately knew that I had to find her, but a gap of twenty six years and two thousand miles made the task feel incredibly daunting.  

Armed with my old yearbooks, the help of modern technology, and a husband who missed his calling as a detective, I found (who I was 99.9% certain was) my librarian. I decided to mail her a hand-written letter to thank her for her kindness all those years before and to tell her I couldn’t wait to include her in the acknowledgements section of my future novel because her care for me had helped buoy my passion for writing. 

Months went by as I anxiously awaited a response. I wondered if my letter had been lost in the mail or if I’d gotten the wrong address. I worried that my letter would feel like an intrusion of her privacy and was gutted, praying that wasn’t the case. I remember hoping with every fiber of my being that my letter would find its way to her, even if I never heard anything back in return. 

And then one day, it was there - an email from my librarian’s daughter - and before I knew it I was sobbing. 

She told me that my letter had first made it to my librarian’s sister before she’d passed it along to her. She thanked me and told me that while her mother would not be able to respond personally, my words had made her smile when her daughter had read them aloud to her. 

She then told me that during my time in middle school - while she was in college - she had often assisted her mother with reading and finding books for her students. She specifically remembered reading new horse books for her mother during those years. 

She told me how proud her mother would be of me and how much she cared for all of her students throughout her career. She encouraged me in my writing and told me she would take her mother to go buy my book whenever it got published. (At that point, I melted into a puddle of my own tears on the couch.) 

As April is School Library Month, I wanted to show my appreciation for the librarian who made such a positive impact on my adolescence. I sincerely hope that my letter was one of many that she received over the course of her life, as her commitment to her students was beyond inspiring. She went so above and beyond her duties to serve others with a generous heart.

To every other librarian out there, please know how instrumental you are in the lives of those you serve. Please be encouraged by this and know how incredible you are. 

While I am nowhere near as wise as I aspire to be, I gladly impart this piece of truth to anyone who will listen - never hesitate to tell someone what they mean to you. It doesn’t matter if it’s been days, months, or years since it happened. Even a gesture as small as a hand-written card could have a greater impact than you could ever imagine, and you never know how many hearts you may touch in the process.

Knowing that my words could bring a smile to my librarian's face was a gift I will always cherish.