I can't really remember reading To Kill a Mockingbird. It's almost as if I absorbed it- as if the pages turned themselves or that it was a book on tape playing inside my head. It was alive to me.
I was about Jem's age the first time I read it in 7th or 8th grade reading class for school, followed by the first time seeing the film. I read it again as pre-freshman year required reading for high school. I read it a third time in junior year of high school honors american lit, and again quite recently as an adult in celebration of its 50th anniversary.
I was born in a small town in rural Illinois. As the county seat, Princeton was a big city of 6000 compared to the surrounding communities of just a few hundred. At 11, we moved to an almost exclusively white, affluent, suburban community outside of Cleveland. At 12, reading about Macomb, I remember tapping into my experiences in Princeton: the small town awareness of "different" people, the long memory, the class distinctions, the reality that tragedy can happen any time to any one. I did not, however, have any understanding of race in America, of justice, of injustice, of war, of true manhood, of alcohol, of pride, of moral conviction, of hate, of true poverty. This one book shaped my perspective on all of these things and had a part in making me the woman I am today. Each time I read it or saw the film it would draw me in and I would see something new or different. I'd be drawn in just like the first time, calling me to answer important questions. One not-so-long book. I've never had another reading experience like it.
Fifty years old, and seemingly fresher each time I read it. So, now, all that's left to do is to keep looking for my own Atticus...
Pick it up again- see what it has for you this time through.
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