I would like to say that this post meant a lot to me. While I never had a military family, my father did, and he often tells me about how he never really had time for long term friends and such. It never has seemed to bother him to talk about such a subject and he doesn’t seem to remember ever being distressed by it as a child. But being the thinking little bugger that I am, I often wonder what I would’ve had as my rock if I ever had a childhood like that. And then I came to a realization the other day (I love this post, and often think about it. I am currently reading the book) that it would be two things: Music and Books. Now I won’t go into depth about the music, seeing as how I’ve been trying to make this blog more of a book blog, but books, like Mr. Gemeinhart’s, have always been there for me.
On a stormy a couple of months ago, I had severe panic attack in bed. Sobbing and hugging myself while gasping for breaths, my mind was louder than the storm outside and my skin felt numb with fear. Worrying that there was no hope for sleep that night, I wondered if anything would possibly calm me down- then I had a thought. I crawled out and stumbled to my bookcase before grabbing a book, one that I might not have read yet, but having it near me in calming: The Twelve Doctors, Twelve Stories Doctor Who anthology. I then crawled back into bed and held the book to my chest while I sobbed and tried to catch my breath, constantly counting all the way to twelve then repeating. Soon enough, I fell asleep with a book in my arms and a newfound warmth in my heart.
I’ve been a Bibliophile in training ever since I was a little girl, but since these past two years have happened, books (and music) have become some of the greatest things that have played such an important role in my life. So important, in fact, that it’s to the point where these instantly things pop in my head when I think of the words
And for me, like Mr. Gemeinhart, my home will always be in between the pages.
Thanks for reading.
Best of luck,
The Time Traveling Writer.
When I think of my childhood, two themes immediately rise to the top: movement and books.
We moved a lot when I was growing up. In the beginning it was because my dad was in the military; later, just because we were following (or looking for) jobs. From when I was born in a military hospital in Germany until I entered middle school, we moved nearly every year. I was used to putting all my stuff into boxes, then taking it all out of boxes again in a new house, in a new town, with a new school. Each move brought a different bedroom, a different neighborhood, a different teacher, different friends. My family was strong and constant, but the rest of the world swirled and shifted around us.
I was a quiet kid, shy and introverted. It’s not easy always being the new kid. Walking into a classroom full…
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