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One of my fondest childhood memories is of walking to the library every Friday night with my dad, the two of us checking out a pile of books each. There was a foolish limit on the number of books a child was allowed to check out (I think it may have been only two!), but the librarian waived it in my case.
Dad was a voracious reader, but I don't recall ever seeing my mother reading a book, only magazines. But she encouraged my love of reading by always giving me books for Christmas, birthdays, or just because she'd seen a book she thought I might like.
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