Several decades ago, there was still a public library in Braddock, PA. That library was historical; it was the first established by Andrew Carnegie. It was also the scene of an early life lesson for me.
At the age of eight, I was already a voracious reader. I regularly borrowed a dozen or more volumes at a time. Those tomes were usually checked out to me by my Aunt Helen, a library employee. Having one of my favorite aunts in this role gave me the idea I was a privileged patron.
Aunt Helen disabused me of that thought. One day, I returned 12 books, all significantly overdue. Aunt Helen checked them in. Then she told me that, because these books were so late, I could no longer take out more than two volumes at a time.
I cried.
Aunt Helen smiled, but remained resolute. The appeal of my sentence failed.
