Bastard ToadflaxI don’t like being told what I can and can’t read. My parents knew this so they commonly let me read almost anything when I was growing up. This was a good decision.
Generally speaking my sister didn’t care what I read either.
Except there was this one time, more than 40 years ago, and to this day it galls me.
We were coming back from visiting relatives in Salmon Arm, B.C., a trip that took a day and a half from Fort Assiniboine, Alberta, back then. My Uncle in Salmon Arm had given us some books to take home. He was a voracious reader and had hundreds of books, many of which were wonderful pulp science fiction.
On the car ride home I picked up a double novel, “Our Man in Space,” by Bruce W. Ronald and “Ultimatum in 2050 A.D.” by Jack Sharkey (Ace Double, copyright 1965). I still have this book in my bookcase.
My sister, four years older than me, started in on something called “The Parasite.”
I finished mine and wanted to read hers. She wasn’t reading it and what she had read of it scared her. Because of this, she told mom I shouldn’t read it.
Even then at age nine the unfairness of it burned me. What I read is my choice mine alone.
Now, before this gets any further, please understand. This has nothing to do with my sister looking out for me. This is my sister’s fear being so unreasonable that she couldn’t handle anyone else reading this book.
So mom took the book into the front seat of the car. I fussed a bit then decided I’d dig it out when we got home.
I never saw that book again.
I still have the one I read plus many hundreds of others. My parents had probably every other book ever given to them.
Within about a year a radio play came on that started with some guy telling his doctor about a growth on his shoulder. That’s as far as it got because my sister started screaming,“That’s ‘The Parasite’ I know it.”
Generally speaking my sister didn’t care what I read either.
Except there was this one time, more than 40 years ago, and to this day it galls me.
We were coming back from visiting relatives in Salmon Arm, B.C., a trip that took a day and a half from Fort Assiniboine, Alberta, back then. My Uncle in Salmon Arm had given us some books to take home. He was a voracious reader and had hundreds of books, many of which were wonderful pulp science fiction.
On the car ride home I picked up a double novel, “Our Man in Space,” by Bruce W. Ronald and “Ultimatum in 2050 A.D.” by Jack Sharkey (Ace Double, copyright 1965). I still have this book in my bookcase.
My sister, four years older than me, started in on something called “The Parasite.”
I finished mine and wanted to read hers. She wasn’t reading it and what she had read of it scared her. Because of this, she told mom I shouldn’t read it.
Even then at age nine the unfairness of it burned me. What I read is my choice mine alone.
Now, before this gets any further, please understand. This has nothing to do with my sister looking out for me. This is my sister’s fear being so unreasonable that she couldn’t handle anyone else reading this book.
So mom took the book into the front seat of the car. I fussed a bit then decided I’d dig it out when we got home.
I never saw that book again.
I still have the one I read plus many hundreds of others. My parents had probably every other book ever given to them.
Within about a year a radio play came on that started with some guy telling his doctor about a growth on his shoulder. That’s as far as it got because my sister started screaming,“That’s ‘The Parasite’ I know it.”
Off went the radio.
I’ve tried to find this book through the Internet. I’ve found something by Arthur Conan Doyle with the same name, but I have no idea if it’s the same story.
It’s been more than 40 years since this happened. Whenever I search through used books there’s the small spark of hope that I’ll find it.
Maybe I’ll hate the story. Maybe it’ll scare me. But that’s for me to find out, not for anyone else to dictate.
Maybe this is why I hate book banning so much. It goes beyond being wrong, stupid, reprehensible, offensive, and inexcusable. For me, it’s personal.
I’ve tried to find this book through the Internet. I’ve found something by Arthur Conan Doyle with the same name, but I have no idea if it’s the same story.
It’s been more than 40 years since this happened. Whenever I search through used books there’s the small spark of hope that I’ll find it.
Maybe I’ll hate the story. Maybe it’ll scare me. But that’s for me to find out, not for anyone else to dictate.
Maybe this is why I hate book banning so much. It goes beyond being wrong, stupid, reprehensible, offensive, and inexcusable. For me, it’s personal.
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As for the picture of Bastard Toadflax, it's not really related to the post other than it's parasitic, but it's name fits my mood.
