Book talk: The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien

 Perhaps I’m just acting like a great big kid. You know? I so don’t care. I’m excited. Crazy excited about this movie

When I was in sixth grade, I had an English teacher. His name was Mr. Blackwell, and he was, in a word, awesome. He introduced me to books, theater, and my first bout of bravery in the face of a bullied life.  He read The Hobbit to his homeroom class that year, and I’m sure some parents had conniptions over that. I soaked up every last word and re-read it when he was done, I loved it that much. Then I read the Lord of the Rings that summer. The summer of sixth grade. I was…eleven? *does math* yes. Eleven years old that summer, and I remember my mother telling me the books would be too advanced for me. Bah. That summer was the beginning of my love affair with words and books and the beautiful, rolling around in the sheer joy of going anyplace I wanted, being anyone I wanted, doing anything. I cannot even explain in words, and me being one who makes a living at this, what one man reading out loud to a bunch of pre-teens did to set the course of everything that was to follow.

I’ve had a lot of wonderful, encouraging, helpful, joyous people in my life since Mr. Blackwell. He will always be my Gandalf, because he set my feet on the road.

Remember what Bilbo used to say: It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.