When I was a very small tot, my mother developed a habit that would help shape me into who I am today. When we went to the grocery store every Thursday, our first stop was the spinning rack of Little Golden Books.

The Little Golden Book was a hit from the time it premiered in the forties. Inexpensive to produce, these hardbound books were durable in the hands of small children who played a little rough with their things. At the price of .25 per book, each colorfully illustrated volume told the story of adorable critters like the Pokey Little Puppy and Three Little Kittens.

By the time I came along in the late seventies, the average cost of these books was .59. While my folks didn’t have a lot of money, my mother never failed to budget for a book every week.

So, she would put me in a cart at the Kroger store in Wellston and wheel me straight to the spinning rack of golden spined books. Here we would choose something new from the selection of books about Sesame Street characters, Disney stories and all sorts of delightful little animals with exciting tales to share.

I couldn’t read yet but I do remember being excited about all the bright, pretty pictures. And I would study the book, flipping through the pages while she shopped. I was too engrossed in my new treasure to even notice the aisles of snacks and cereals we passed by.

She finished her shopping without fielding requests for things off budget and then we went home where she put away groceries and we sat down to read the new story.

I always treated my books carefully and with respect, often imposing on anyone that would read to me. I think a few of my older cousins were taken aback when I would plop down an entire stack – as many as my small arms could hold – with the expectation we could read them all.

At one time, I had dozens of those books that eventually got sold at a yard sale. I can’t believe we sold them. They were such an important part of my childhood that it seems crazy I let them go.

Sometimes I pick up vintage copies at antique malls and used bookstores. Here’s a rack of vintage Little Goldens at the Heart of Ohio Antique Mall.

I have several from my childhood and a bunch that predate me. The mid century artwork is superb and there are a couple of artists that rise above the others as favorites. Corinne Malvern is one of those favorites. There’s something soft and fanciful but realistic about her work.

Yup. I’m still looking at the pictures.

Occasionally you’ll still see a spinning rack of Little Goldens but, more often than not, they’re just on a shelf next to fifty other kids books and that makes me sad. Today the average retail price is $4.99 – still more affordable than most children’s books today.

I nearly always stop to see if there’s something I want for my collection or something that might fuel my sense of nostalgia.

As I look around stores today, parents aren’t buying their kids books. If they want to hold their attention in a store, the kids are given a phone to watch cartoons and play games. A modern day version of my mother’s distraction techniques, I guess. Just maybe not as enriching or as productive as teaching them to love reading.

My favorites often involved little woodland creatures, cats or travel. Shocking, I know. Evidently. my tastes were pretty much defined as a three year old in a grocery store shopping cart. These stories encouraged tolerance for others like when a lot of little creatures tried to live together and discovered they all had different food and shelter needs in The Very Best Home For Me.

Here’s a peek inside.

A few books introduced the idea of traveling to far off lands in such an exciting way I wanted to pack my little red Going To Grandma’s suitcase and strike off on a train or plane journey.

I learned a lot from those books and discovered a lifelong desire to collect and read books. As an only child, books were always a great gift. Part time machine and part magic carpet, they could transport me to anyplace I wished to go and continue to do so today.

There’s still nothing more satisfying than curling up in bed with a good book unless it’s being out scouring bookshelves for something new to try.

Now, the woman who taught me to love and collect books likes to frown when she asks how many more books I intend to buy. Ha, ha! My poor mother is convinced the floor of my house will someday collapse under the weight of my collection. Honestly, I worry more that I will someday stack my to be read pile too high and be crushed under the weight when it falls.

But what a way to go, right?

If you have kids, buy them books that they can read and reread and call their very own. And if you can’t afford to do that, take them to the library where they’ll find an entire new universe at their fingertips for absolutely no cost. And for yourself, find a book that sounds interesting, put down your phone and venture into the land of great storytelling. If you can read, you’ll never be bored or lonely. It’s the greatest gift you can give another person and yourself.