I first read Plato (and Shakespeare) at a very young age because they were on my parents’ book shelves, which is a major reason access to titles seems to me to be very important in our responses. The only reason I read Alcott was because the books were available at the local general store where I immediately headed every Friday as soon as I received my allowance. I got enough for one book and one piece of candy and I was never much of a saver. My favorites were Eight Cousins and Rose in Bloom. I also bought and read Twain, because I understood he was an “important writer” but I never cared for him. Even at that point in time I was dividing books into boy books and girl books and the boy books never interested me much. For me a boy book didn’t necessarily have to be written by a male, it had to do with perspective and whether it was more a story of manners and the domestic sphere or of the wider world and adventure. Whether it was okay to have pierced ears was a story which mattered to me; whitewashing a fence, regardless of how the task was accomplished, was pretty boring. Last week I painted a fence with pierced ears, so maybe I’m full circle. It has been interesting to me that of the half dozen or so men hired to help me paint fences the last few years, all know that story and all are laughing about it while working.