When I was in my 20’s and sick in bed there were two books I always read “Little Women” and “Gone With The Wind”. Why? Because it was easy to just flip through the pages and read the best and favorite parts without having to concentrate too much.
I still have those books, one seems to have once belonged to Mildred Browning and the other belonged to my father.
Now here is the interesting thing – the “Gone with the Wind” was my father’s, and like the Shakespeare, was published in 1936. My father was 21 in 1936 and it seems he was on a book buying binge.
When I opened the book, for the first time in years, I saw that my father had put his name and address on the inside. I have nothing with my father’s handwriting on it and it took me aback when I saw it.
The book is in sad shape and I know I shall never read it again.
But, like the Shakespeare, it shall stay on my shelf for sentimental reasons – I have so little of my father’s – to see his handwriting – it touched me.