Family Daze
The stigma of running afoul of library sends a family into action
By Debbie Farmer
I wasn't going to talk about this, but, as of last week, I'm wanted by the local library. And I don't mean in the warm fuzzy we-need-you-to-volunteer-at-the-monthly-book-sale sort of way. Nooooooo, I mean the other kind.
You see, the other day I received an official-looking letter on library stationery, notifying me that they were missing a children's movie and, according to information in their computer records and a thorough process of elimination, it was determined to be somewhere in our house.
Believe me, I am as shocked as you are.
But that's not all. I read further and found out I had two choices: 1) find the movie and return it, or 2) turn myself in peacefully and pay a bazillion dollars worth of fines. I don't need to tell you that I preferred option No. 1. There was one particular drawback, however: I had absolutely no idea where the movie might be. In fact, the title didn't even sound familiar.
Now, before you grab the phone and report me to the local library association, I just want you to know that paying the overdue fine isn't the issue. I am a big advocate of public libraries and paying them what you rightfully owe and all that. But, paying the fine would be like admitting to the librarian that I was, well, some sort of a bad risk. A ne'er-do-well. A movie loser. When of course I hadn't really lost the movie. I had merely misplaced it. Possibly forever.
On top of that, what if, after my confession, they placed me on a high-risk borrower plan where I'd have to pay the librarian up front before I was allowed to leave the building? Or, what if I had to carry around, say, a special big red library card, notifying all innocent librarians of my criminal record? No, thank you, I say.
But, getting back to the note, I wasn't sure what to do. I couldn't ignore it. That wouldn't be the fair and right thing to do. Besides, this would bring up a whole new set of problems. Like, for instance, possibly having my card number posted on walls in library lobbies all over the county and librarians speaking my name in the same type of hushed tones reserved for crack addicts and convicted felons. Or living with the fear that the next time I used my card, sirens would go off and a team of police dogs would burst out of the check-in room to keep me contained before the head librarian arrived to take me into custody. I don't know about you, but I couldn't go on living my life this way.
So I did what any well-meaning, desperate parent would do: I enlisted the help of my children.
I told them all about how we had to find the movie, because borrowing isn't just a right, it's a privilege. And about how returning something on time is a sign of being responsible and fulfilling your commitments, and all that. When I was through they rose to the occasion with the usual Farmer tenacity.
"Don't worry, Mom," they said, straightening their shoulders. "We'll find it." Then they glanced underneath the ottoman, shrugged, and wandered off to watch television.
Next I thought about just hoping that it would magically show up. But everybody knows that the only sure-fire way to make a lost thing magically appear is to pay the fine. I've actually seen this happen.
So, I walked through the house sporadically shouting out "I paid the fine today, YES-SIR-EE!" into each room.
Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "That won't work. Are you nuts or something?" And you're right. It didn't. Most lost objects are smarter than that. But you can imagine my delight when I found an empty plastic container with "Property of the Public Library" printed on the front, sticking out from underneath my daughter's bed.
I tossed it in my purse and decided that the only thing to do was to return the box to the library and hope they'd be lenient with me.
Debbie Farmer is the author of Life in the Fast-Food Lane: Surviving the Chaos of Parenting. Email her at paradigmnews@familydaze.com.
|
Saratoga, California Since 1955
