Long before the age of the Internet and cell phones, a boy’s journey would begin with a mere book. Its yellowed pages, likely older than I was, lay there staring back at me. Having passed through many hands, its corners were worn, its cover stained, its spine tired. Time had left its fingerprints across every inch.
This ancient artifact was one among a stack of books left on my bed by a tireless parent who, once again, insisted I try reading something other than a comic book.
A library card clung inside the cover of this gift from Mom, like some forgotten note. On it, I could see the crossed-out names of the other unfortunates who had once owned this relic for a short time. I felt sorry for them. They probably had mothers, too.
Yet this time, with a twinge of curiosity and a single turn of a page, everything changed. This book—a simple aviator’s biography—captured my mind, expanded my insight, and led me to other books that would soon follow. Enlightened, I was no longer trapped by the endless maze of crime, concrete, roads, and bricks outside my window. Somehow, this book widened my worldview and showed me there was more than I had ever dreamed of. The possibilities for me were endless.
It revealed adventures beyond the prison of the inner city and the chaos that came with it. I was enthralled, and my imagination was set ablaze by stories, both fictional and true.
Now hidden from the streets, I avoided others when they came to our doorstep to steal me back. Mom always had a clever excuse and sent them away. I became a hermit of sorts, teased by my siblings because, other than going to school, I never left my room. But I didn’t care. I was now far beyond those walls, for I had seen new worlds.
Through the days and into the nights I read: biographies of war heroes; tales of nobility; knights in shining armor; winged, fire-breathing creatures; and golden treasures waiting to be found. There were oceans to be sailed and yet more battles to be fought. It never ended—and I wanted more. There was a reality far beyond the miserable borders of my anger. The maze beyond my windowsill was not the whole world; it was only a barrier to be climbed and conquered so I could explore well past the horizon. After all, conquest was for the heroes.
“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” 1 Corinthians 13:11
With each turn of the page, I no longer belonged to the environment I had once lived in, nor to the wolfpack with whom I had once roamed. I had abandoned the shadows that shaped my youth. In the world, there were truly great men—men of renown, explorers, and adventurers. I had met them within the pages of my growing library, its shelves now holding hundreds of books. The chains were broken, and I was set free.
Then one afternoon, a few years later, Mom left a Bible on my bed.
