When I was in my pre to mid teens, my Dad used to take me to this bookstore called Great Christian Books (in Delaware?) a few weekends per year. After entering, he'd say "Pick out whatever you want!", and then we'd both spend the next few hours painstakingly picking through our chosen sections of the store. I'd end up with this huge tower of books which I'd then self-edit. I'd decide how many of the higher priced ones I thought it would be okay to ask for, and then I'd go through the lower priced ones and try to get my numbers down.
I'd get my tower down to a more reasonable size before I showed them to Dad, always nervous that this might be the time he'd say "That's too many, go put some back". But he never did. In fact I always got the sense that I could have walked up to him with a shopping cart full of books and he'd have been happy to get them for me.
I loved those bookstore trips.
Happy Father's Day to the man who has always understood and shared my love for books (much to my mother's chagrin).
My chagrin was not at the "love of books", rather at the excess. We now have 10,000+ in our basement!
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