For a young child growing up in 1960s rural Ontario, hockey was a rite of passage. My older brother Jim was quite a hockey player, and my dad made the 15 mile winter journey from our home in Millbank to the arena in Milverton twice a week and every weekend. Every boy in my family played hockey. But not me.

Money was scarce for our large family of thirteen children. At the age I should be receiving skates, my father took me aside and explained that hockey equipment was expensive, and according to local scouts, it was Jim?s talent that required support. However I had always enjoyed reading, so my father got me a library card instead of skates.

Every day that Jim would visit the rink, I was dropped off at the Milverton Public Library. It was a marvellous structure; castle-like, with its red brick and high windows, the library towered at the top of a seemingly endless series of stair steps. The interior was even more wondrous.

Books. Thousands of books. With only the library of my three-room school for comparison, the Milverton Library was Aladdin?s cave. Books that trumpeted a wealth of subjects were everywhere; how would I begin? That?s where Mrs. Honderich, the chief librarian, came in. She must have seen the look of amazement on my face. When she approached and offered help, I brandished my new library card like a newcomer offering his ticket to an immigration agent. Mrs. Honderich smiled and asked: ?What would you like to read??

The only title that immediately came to mind was a novel that sat on my sisters? bedroom shelf. ?I?d like a Nancy Drew book, please,? I blurted out. Mrs. Honderich?s smile widened, and she said, ?Let me introduce you to a boy named Tom.? And so I was introduced to the world of Tom Swift ? and soon I was jetting away to faraway cities, solving mysteries, and having adventures.

But the Milverton Library was so much more. Mrs. Honderich let her young charges pile onto the sills of the large library windows to read, and after hockey practice, that would be where my father would find me, slumped down, and lost in literature.

In the years that followed, my brother would lug his hockey bag home and I would imitate him with my satchel filled with books. In our large family, only two siblings earned university degrees ? hockey brought Jim a scholarship, and that Milverton Public Library card launched my life-long love for books that culminated in a career as an English teacher.

My brother eventually played NHL hockey. When I recall his hard work, I am very proud. I was given a Milverton Public library card; when I think of that card, that building, and Mrs. Honderich, I am eternally thankful.

And I never did learn how to skate.