I don't know if it's because it's December or because of hormones, but this topic made me very nostalgic. Remembering the books or stories I used to read in my childhood can be an endearing exercise, but also a sad one, and you will know why.

Although my parents knew how to read, there were no libraries or books at home. I imagine that it was a luxury we could not afford or simply because there was no one at home who loved to read. Anyway, when I started school, I got my first book. A reading book that my mother lined and put a sticker with my name on the cover. “This book belongs to Nancy” and that was my first good, my first property, mine and no one else's.

Then came other reading books that I “devoured” not only in class but also at home, in front of my grandmother, who listened to all the things I read. Every afternoon, I would sit at the feet of my grandmother, who sat in her rocking chair, and I would start reading aloud, not only the stories that were sent to me for homework and were in the book, but also single stories inserted in the newspapers:

_Oh, no, I like the way Nancy reads, because she reads with “gusto” - my grandmother would say to my father, her son, when he tried to read something to her. I have to say that I was about 7 years old when I was reading to my 60-year-old grandmother, who was illiterate.

In the absence of books, I read newspapers and comics of super heroes like Kaliman, Arandú, Memín, Wonder Woman, among others. My friends provided me with the comics, because Dad didn't buy them, and they would only lend them to me if I played with them or if we went for a walk together:

_Please bring me this week's! -I would ask as if I were vicious:

No. Every time I bring you a comic book, you start reading and don't want to play with us, said one of my friends. Then I had to swear, by the most sacred thing, that I was going to play and I was going to read only when they left.

There were also my grandmother and my father, the best storytellers a child could ever have. Let's remember that before writing, our ancestors passed down their stories orally. Before I could read, I knew some stories, especially those of Uncle Tiger and Uncle Rabbit, because my grandmother and my dad would tell us those stories in the afternoons or evenings before bedtime. They also told stories of mermaids, magic fish, talking dead people and ghosts that guided people to great treasures.

I remember that once I asked Baby Jesus for a book of stories. I had already seen it in the window of a bookstore and I had fallen in love with that green, hardcover book. Then, my father, who read my letter, asked me:

"Why do you want a book if you already know how to read!" -and my sisters laughed at me because I hadn't asked for dolls or balls. Although the mockery affected me, it passed when I saw that storybook under my pillow. I remember putting on the back of it, in pencil, “This book belongs to Nancy” and placing it next to my other reading books. I looked at the shelf with those few books (4 or 6) and felt like I was blissful because I had my own library. Hahahahaha.

Over the years, I have met people who are fans, lovers, of shoes, handbags, clothes, even food, and some people have told me, like my friend César, “I created a fondness for food, for eating, because in my childhood I ate very little”. Maybe that's where my inclination for books comes from: because when I was a child I had very few. Today I have a library with hundreds, thousands, of books, mine, that I have bought over the years and that bear on the back cover a stamp that says: “This book belongs to the personal library of Nancy B”. What pride!!! :D