While I didn’t grow up in San Antonio, I spent most Friday nights at high school football games. Tucked into my jacket, I kept a paperback handy for the boring parts, otherwise known as all the parts except halftime. Our team was not very good because I recall starting and finishing plenty of volumes while they competed.
Kerouac and Wilde weren’t on my list, but I remember many stories as being bleacher reads. They still evoke the aroma of fall leaves and bonfires. Touring my bookcase, I pulled titles with an indelible link to the gridiron. To Kill a Mockingbird, Animal Farm, The Great Gatsby, Death of a Salesman, 1984, The Catcher in the Rye, Of Mice and Men, Heart of Darkness, and Breakfast at Tiffany’s remind me of homecoming games and referee whistles. A few stories create a visceral reaction, including the Lord of the Flies, Frankenstein, and Macbeth, which I read around Halloween. Who needs scary movies when you have diabolical books, read outside where real shadows creep just below your feet?
Then there is my all-time favorite, Fahrenheit 451. Besides being assigned reading, the teachers treated us to the 1966 film adaptation. They remade the movie a couple of years ago, and I have yet to see it. I enjoyed the old François Truffaut movie and loved the final scene with the book people reciting their memorized novels. Somehow, I don’t want to disturb the poignant ending.
Do some books conjure the place and time when you first met them?
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer