Back to my Roots

I often find that during school, during semesters, I have little to no time for personal reading. However, when I believe that a certain book is important to my character and good for my soul I often toss my schoolwork aside with reckless abandon and devote my time to what I (emphasis on I) want to read. When I came up to San Francisco I had only three books to my name since there are only three books that I truly care about enough to keep copies. The first is The Little Prince by Antoine de-Saint Exupery, the second is Siddhartha by Herman Hesse, and the third is The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain all of whom I highly reccomend. These are the only books that I can read over and over again and still discover more and more and have a hell of a good time during. These three books have become part of me, part of Rusty. But I digress. At all times I am reading and rereading these books. And one day while starting The Little Prince for about the hundreth time I thought about all the books I loved as a child and how much they meant to me and now I hardly know them! Take for instance Amos and I, Hachet, and The Stinky Cheeseman. I miss these books so much. So I decided to rumage threw any old books I had and reread one of them when I went home recently. I chose Out of the Dust. When I was younger this book had a profound effect on me and reading now in college it hadn't lost its flavor. All of the old emotions I remember feeling while reading Out of the Dust the first time resurfaced and I could read the desperation once more. Anywho I suppose what I am getting at is although we are older now, we are grown-ups with bills and ties and sensible breakfasts, we should never forget the words that used to inspire us as children. The words that made us dream then may bring us back down to earth now.