Where the Red Fern Grows, by Wilson Rawls
I know that I’ve told you guys before that I learned to read pretty young and that the town I’m from had the crappiest library of all time. I ran out of books to read there all of the time and even as a kid would get so frustrated. The children’s librarian’s name was Mary and she was this hilarious woman who was truly passionate about kids reading. She would set books aside for me all the time and hand me an armload of books every time I came in. One time, this book made it into my pile from Mary. She told me that it was one of her favorite books and she wanted to know what I thought.
I was maybe 8 or 9. I got into it immediately, and I just remember getting to the end and flat out ugly-crying. I could not believe how sad it was. This was a time in my life that was kinda rough- parents divorcing, lots of big changes- and my emotions were totally screwy. I remember reading it again right away just because that cry at the end was so incredibly satisfying. I remember reporting back to Mary and telling her that this was one of my favorite books too and she was satisfied.
Over the next few years, I probably checked this book out once or twice a year and read it. I loved the story and the pups- Big Dan and Little Ann- and the boy and their adventures, but to be perfectly honest, I was mostly addicted for the deep emotions that it brought out in me. It got to the point that I could just think about it and tear up. That may sound like a negative, but sometimes a good cry is just about all you need.
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