Barnes and Noble and a Father’s Day Surprise.

June 19, 2007.

So I’ve come back from Athens, GA only to find that the Barnes and Noble I once held so precious to me has been replaced by a bigger, multi-storied Borders at the Cerritos Towne Center. It stung a bit to have to gaze upon the giant red-faced monster breathing its manufactured, impersonal air out of its mechanically-controlled sliding glass doors, relishing an atmosphere sure to try to win one’s heart with a showcase of modernization rather than a love of books. But the Barnes and Noble I had known for many years was small, and the soothing sounds of classical music, (which on an ordinary basis, I tried to avoid), always filled the air as did the smell of a man’s personal study or library. The dark green carpet and bookcases made of cherry wood, the plush chairs, the muted yellow lights blending in with the cream-colored wallpaper…all of this spelled sanctuary to me.

But that’s just the partial aspect of the reason I care so much.

The main reason is this. My family moved into my house in Cerritos on the day after Christmas of ’96. And for years to come, every couple of days or so, my dad would take my brother and me to that Barnes and Noble at the Cerritos Towne Center. The three of us would spend hours there, browsing the shelves, picking a chair and reading our selected books of the day. I remember buying a lot of Sweet Valley High and my occasional murder mystery, while Dom, my brother, focused more on Science Fiction, (i.e. Douglas Adams novels), magic tricks, and optical illusion books.

And dad? He read a lot of autobiographies and biographies…was a big fan of Orwell’s Animal Farm and the Prophet by Kahlil Gibran…he was a daily, nightly reader of the Bible. I’m sure that in my lifetime I’ll never be able to conquer one-third of the works he had read over the years. Here, was one of the most brilliant men in the world and yet, he never stopped being a student of life.

In his bookcases, you’d find, beat-up copies of African-American folk tales, books on other religions, very old but preserved hardcover editions of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass and other profound poetry, followed by a complete collection of Shakespeare’s works (sonnets included), Arabian Nights, Crime and Punishment, Marxist theory, the Communist Manifesto…and the list goes on.

Somewhere in a molting box, lay an old copy of Jet magazine worth 25 cents at the time, published 1 year and 6 days after the death of Martin Luther King, Jr. The civil rights icon gazed up with wistful, but steady eyes from the black and white cover. My dad was one of millions who marched on Washington that day.

Anyhow, by replacing Barnes and Noble with Borders, whomever responsible managed to destroy a very big part of my past life. At least by being able to walk into Barnes and Noble today, I’d be able to relive some of my memories. But now, I can’t even do that.

The Borders that stands in Cerritos Towne Center today with its two-story high frame and glaring red walls is a total and complete eye-sore for me. It’s a mockery of what I used to have and stole from me one of the things I held most dear. And I know, I know, material possessions or a “place” shouldn’t concern me too much because it’s only my dad’s memory and legacy that really counts, but no matter how many times you can say that to a person…for instance, if I had a golden locket that my father gave to me, a little piece of his heart—something that reminds me the most of him—then of course, I am going to be devastated if I lose that locket. Of course, I would want it back.

Because, when you lose someone so close to you, you’re desperate to hold onto anything that serves as a reminder of that person. You’re going to hang on to the pair of glasses he always wore or the mug he always drank from. You’re going to look at his watch and cry when you discover the battery no longer works. We do these things because it is all that we can do to hold onto the physical things in this world when the beings they belonged to or that offered those things to us leave us. Desperation finds us in our darkest hours and it tells us that it’s okay to want to return to better times or at least gives us permission to cling to material possessions for aid–in helping us through all those difficult times. Think of a teddy bear or a bunny…things the smallest child to the most grown adult can find comfort in. Now, who are you to take away a kid’s teddy bear?

But yes, I am very deeply saddened about the removal of my bookstore. So many good, relaxed, simple times were spent there with my dad, Dom, and I. I will never forget that Barnes and Noble. I just wish I could see it right now with my own two eyes. I’d kiss its bricks, I would.