It was one of the best times in my life. With apologies to Charles Dickens, it was also one of the worst.
I had no money. Both my parents were HIV-positive. My mother was a drug dealer, so when I would get home from school, customers would be there. School was my social activity, and I wasn’t taking it seriously — my teachers were unhappy, underpaid, underserved people, and it made learning hard. I was a teenager and I couldn’t really read or write.
It was a constant struggle, and it hurt. Watching my dad deteriorate. Watching my mom try so hard to be there for us, but have her pulled in many directions. Seeing drugs steal so many members of my family. Living in poverty.
But I was able to escape. I escaped my neighborhood. I escaped my home. I escaped my situation.
I escaped to the public library. That may seem like a surprising choice to some, but it made perfect sense to me. Bad people didn’t come to the library.
I didn’t want people to see me learning. I didn’t know how they’d react to that. It was safe. I don’t remember any other option for me at that time. The library was it, and that was fine by me.
Every morning, I would walk from my apartment to the East New York branch. On my walk over, I would create a new version of myself in my head. Not the guy who was coping with poverty. Not the guy who would get in trouble in school because no one at home was worried about what happened there.
I would literally imagine that I was a different person on that walk. Someone who was ambitious and creative. A reader. A writer. A young man who was well read and patient with no corner hangouts in the world.
Then I’d arrive. I’d sit in that small branch, where no one knew me, and become a student.
I basically taught myself how to read and write in that small oasis. I learned Confucius. I learned about Kabuki theatre. And, of course, I read poetry. I read Walt Whitman. I read Etheridge Knight. I felt like they were speaking to me. I was transported to their worlds and understood their circumstances.
Inside the walls of that East New York Library, that period of my life was amazing. Outside, things were not getting better. I lost both my parents. My brother and I were alone and had to fend for ourselves.
I went to jail. That could have spelled the end of my promise. But in jail, I read. Constantly.
And I read more after that year in prison. And all of that reading made me a writer. With all of those stories in my head, I knew how to write my own stories. I got a job off the first poem I ever wrote.
Another time, I was about to go on stage at a reading, and I realized my poem wasn’t as good as any of the other poets’. So at the last second, I decided to read an Etheridge Knight poem. The producer of “Def Poetry Jam” was in the audience, and it happened that Etheridge Knight was his favorite poet. The rest is history; I was on that show seven years because of the time I spent at the library.
I have what I have now because of the public library. Libraries can eliminate the ceilings caused by poverty. They can inspire a kid who thinks he can’t learn to love learning. Then can shine a light on a path out of dark times.
In New York City, libraries are facing budget cuts. This is the sad story across the country. It’s not right. Go to your local library. Speak to the librarians. See how you can help. This is a cause worth fighting for.
Andersen is a poet, television writer and producer.
