I’ve been in a book club for eight years called the Wolves. We are named the

Wolves because the first book we read was Women Who Run With the Wolves, by Clarissa Pinkola Estes.

I grew up in family of readers. My dad read the funny papers on Sunday to my younger sister, Mary, two younger brothers, Tim and Kevin and me. There were six boys and five girls in my family but the older seven said that dad never took time to read out loud to them. Still, all of us read as our house was filled with books. Most of the books came from my Great Aunt Bonnie Callahan when she retired from teaching school. These books were read and re-read.

One in particular we all loved was called &uot;I Married Adventure,&uot; by Osa Johnson. It was a zebra-striped hard-covered book. I loved looking at this book even before I could read because it was filled with exotic pictures of the natives of the South Seas and wild animals from Africa.Dad liked to read the books we brought home from school. My brother John had to read The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck for a humanities class when he was 16. I was 9 years old at the time.

I remember dad laughing out loud while reading about the trials of the Joads. The night dad finished reading the last chapter of The Grapes of Wrath, he went into a rage and said, &uot;This book is not fit to be read. It is terrible. I should never have allowed it in the house. John, I can’t believe this is required reading.&uot;

Dad took the book to the basement and threw it into the wood-burning furnace. John was so angry with dad for burning his book. John had to pay for the book out of his own wallet. After the book burning, none of us could wait to read The Grapes of Wrath. We became wary about getting caught reading books that dad wouldn’t approve of. We read books that we thought dad might burn, tucked hidden inside another book.

The summer I was 12, someone in the family left The Valley of the Dolls, by Jacqueline Susan hidden behind a closet door. My 14-year-old sister, Kate and I snatched it up. We would read and re-read about Jennifer, the blond bombshell, Neely, the young starlet, and Anne, the good girl from New England.

I told two of my friends from Catholic school, Patty and Joan about this great book. They wanted to read it too. They were taking a summer typing class that they road their bikes to. They decided to ride their bikes the 6 miles to my farm to read this book instead of going to typing class. I had to think fast to find a good place to read The Valley of the Dolls without my mom being suspicious. I took care of the chickens and we kept newborn chicks in a small coop until the got bigger and then moved them to a larger barn. The coop was empty. I swept it out and dragged in an old rocking chair and made a bench out of two stumps of wood and a board. I hid the book in the rafters of the coop and was all set for my first book club.

The next morning, four of us were mowing the lawn with hand operated push mowers, when Joan and Patty road their bikes up our long gravel driveway.

Kate, Steve, Mary and I had sections of the lawn to mow and I had finished my section earlier. Patty and Joan were grinning broadly as they pedaled up to me.

&uot;Where’s the book?&uot; Patty said as she jumped off her bike and Joan coasted to a slow stop.

&uot;Not here,&uot; I hushed.

My mother was weeding her moss roses near by. I had told her ahead of time that my friends were riding their bikes to visit me. Kate, Steve and Mary all knew why Patty and Joan had come, but they said nothing and kept on mowing the lawn.

&uot;Sheila, take your guests in for some Kool-Aid and oatmeal cookies,&uot; Mom said motioning me into the house.

We didn't want Kool-Aid and oatmeal cookies. We wanted to read The Valley of the Dolls, but I didn’t want mom to suspect anything. We sat politely at the kitchen table and gulped down cherry flavored Kool-Aid and cookies as fast as we could under her watchful eye. After five impatient minutes of this I said, &uot;Come out and see my clubhouse.&uot;

The clubhouse was the chicken coop and I got the book down from the rafters.

I had marked all the good spots and read them out loud. Patty and Joan thought it was the best book ever. They hooted and gasped and asked me to re-read sections over. They had to leave after an hour as their moms thought they were at typing class, but they said they would be back in two days when they skipped typing class again.

We ended up taking turns reading the entire book out loud in the chicken coop. Joan and Patty made it to typing class for three sessions and they never learned how to type that summer.

Reporter Sheila Donnelly can be reached at 434-2233 or by e-mail at :mailto:newsroom@austindailyherald.com