"Quack, Quack, Quack, My Preciousssssss"

Come back with me and let us peer in the window together...A small girl-not frail, not fragile, just small-blond curly hair, cinnamon brown jumper over a crisp blue cotton shirt. She's sitting in the back of the room, alone.

Oh her head sits a contraption of gray and black metal that supports ear phones that are much too large for her first grade head. She looks like a medical experiment. But for the look of contentment and anticipation on her face, you would think this was a tortuous episode.

In front of her, on the wood grained formica table is a book. An old book. A book torn and frayed and yellowed. She gingerly, lovingly turns the pages, revealing the story bit by bit. Relishing the story time with Burl Ives and his deep, comforting fatherly voice. The little white duck. The lily pad. The bug. The mean old red snake. She shudders and quickly turns the page. All too soon the story is over. She removed her headgear. She picks up the book with care and hugs it to her. She gently places the book in its resting place on the shelf and whispers, "I'll be back."

The little girl moved on from THE LITTLE WHITE DUCK SITTING IN THE WATER to many more books. But one day, an extraordinary book stopped her. A book by which she would, for many years to come, judge other books. The book captivates her still today...

...I remember being in the third grade. Library time was the highlight of my week. I remember the librarian saying, "Are you sure that book won't be too hard for you?" I shook my head no. I remember choosing THE HOBBIT for two reasons: the way the weight of it felt right in my hands and the curious title. What is a hobbit? From the first pages where I met Bilbo Baggins and joined him and Gandalf for all those delicious cakes (he always had enough!) I was hooked. Then came the elves and trolls and goblins (OH MY. And the creepy yet endearing Gollum. And the devilish, fiendish Smaug.

For the first time, I experienced what a book could truly offer--travel to another land where wonderful, magical adventure could happen. Suspense. Humor. And...friendship. The characters and I became fast friends and mortal enemies. (I have, do date, not seen any of the big screen movies of Tolkien's trilogy. The characters are so real in my heart and in my head that no one can do them justice. To see another person's interpretation would mean a betrayal of sorts to the ones I hold in my memory.) The animism and the coming-of-age theme of THE HOBBIT struck a chord in me. Tolkien's straight-forward yet casual storytelling in which he mixed danger and humor intrigued me. (Granted I didn't know those terms nor could I put voice then to what I had really loved about this story).

Only in recent years have I discovered Tolkien's inspiration for THE HOBBIT and his trilogy: BEOWULF. Tolkien was a BEOWULF (and Anglo-Saxon) scholar and used the epic to inspire the creation of his characters and battles. So it is to THE HOBBIT then I suppose that I owe my love of other British Literature because, after all, isn't that what good friends do: affect us for the rest of our lives?