I recall the trip we made together to the branch library on Franklin Street about a mile from our house. I must have been five because she pushed Robert in a carriage. The library was windowless and small.  I couldn't find anything and started to complain about the heat.  Mom choose a few books and we departed. I was happy to be with her. 

I do not remember going to the library with her again. Neither do I recall hearing bedtime stories. The one experience that sticks out in my mind took place about the time she went to work. As usual, I had come home for lunch to an empty house. To my great surprise, Mom was there. She had become ill at work and so returned home. For some reason I had my reading book with me. She asked me what I was reading. I told her a poem about the sun. She was curious and asked me to see it. Sure enough she recognized it from her childhood. With a smile on her face she read it to me as we sat together at the kitchen table.  Mr. Sun visited the children in the summer to warm us with his golden rays. Old man winter chased him away in the winter and pesky clouds blocked him out sometimes. Mr. Sun smiled knowing he would return to nurture us. 

I cherished this moment so much I didn't want it to end. Like Mr. Sun she calmed me with affection. The story gave me a quiet moment to be alone with her. I knew I could count on her to return every evening to take care of me. This encouraged me to do well in school. I wanted to please her as she pleased me. It became the foundation of all my learning.

Support is an odd thing. We know from studies of Japanese moms, that parents play a central role in their children's school success. They support them with encouragement, homework assistance, and even special care in lunch preparation. Their goal is to make learning as distraction free as possible. Parents of successful American students are involved in school activities as well. They tend to manage their children's schedules, help them set goals, bring them to the library, buy them computers, and provide direct instruction on assignments. This includes brainstorming topics, editing papers, testing children, and monitoring their work tutoring in subject matter when warranted. 

My mom did not provide instructional or managerial support because she was not comfortable with her own education. She was, however, the driving force behind my motivation to do well in school. As I grew up, my impetus to learn gradually shifted to inward. Aristotle believed that man's soul naturally wants to know. He called this curiosity " medesis." I definitely had medesis and it was about the past. I used to go into my grandmother’s old chest to look at her America flag and pictures of her family. The few books I read were about historical athletes and inventors. Television shows about medieval castles, or pirates fascinated me. A sixth grade unit on ancient Egypt led me to purchase a book called the Epic of Man. Ancient times inspired me. 

The literature I read in junior high school also fed my interest in the past. I read closely stories like the Christmas Carol, Treasure Island and Tom Sawyer because I valued their meaning and learned from them. The melodies in Paine’s Common Sense and Longfellow’s Evangeline reverberated in my head for weeks because they filled me with music.

By the time I was fourteen one of my favorite places to go was the Thomas Crane Public Library in Quincy Square. Built in 1885 from local granite and brownstone, this impressive Romanesque structure with its grand turrets, eyebrow windows and red tile roof, was a hideout for me. The interior included an ornamental fireplace, finely crafted woodwork, and stained glass windows. I would sit in the reading room for hours browsing through old books. I found great joy holding leather bound volumes in my hands. The thing is, I could never get myself to read one, cover to cover. Instead I studied the illustrations, and skimmed through chapters, perhaps stopping to read a paragraph or two. Long, impenetrable sentences made too many demands on me.