I grew up in a household without a TV. We lived next door to a

The words of Victoria Hanley come to us like a lantern carried through the quiet corridors of memory: “I grew up in a household without a TV. We lived next door to a library for a while, and at one point, I checked out all the books in the fairy tale section. I remember the librarian’s quiet smile as I brought back one stack and exchanged it for another.” What seems at first a personal recollection is in truth a parable of how the soul is shaped—not by the flashing illusions of the screen, but by the enduring power of the written word, the stillness of imagination, and the gentle guidance of unseen guardians of knowledge.

To be raised without the constant glow of a TV is to dwell in a different kind of light, one not manufactured by wires and glass, but kindled within the mind itself. In such a home, the spirit is not lulled into passivity, but compelled to seek its own visions. And when fortune placed this child beside a library, it was as though Providence itself decreed that she should walk the ancient path of wisdom: the path where stories, myths, and legends serve as both compass and companion.

The image of the fairy tale section, emptied by a single child’s hunger for wonder, calls to mind the youths of old who consumed scrolls, parchments, and sagas until their souls were set aflame. For what are fairy tales, if not the distilled wisdom of nations—teaching courage through knights, hope through peasants who triumph, humility through kings who fail, and the triumph of light over shadow? To drink deeply of such tales is not childish escape, but a training ground for the spirit, preparing it to face the dragons of life with imagination sharpened like a sword.

The librarian’s quiet smile is no small detail, but the heart of this remembrance. For she is the silent guardian, the priestess of knowledge, who sees in the child’s eagerness the spark of destiny. She does not need to praise with words; her smile alone is a benediction, a blessing upon the quest. This moment is a reminder that often the greatest teachers are not those who speak loudly, but those who stand watch in silence, offering encouragement through presence alone.

Consider the tale of Abraham Lincoln, who, though raised in a log cabin with little schooling, devoured every book he could lay his hands on. By the light of a fire, with no wealth or luxury, he shaped his mind until it grew broad enough to hold the fate of a nation. Lincoln’s story mirrors Hanley’s in essence: both reveal how deprivation of one thing—the entertainment of the masses—can become the blessing of another—the nourishment of the mind. The lack of a TV was not poverty, but providence.

The lesson, O listener, is this: seek not always the easy light of distraction, but the deeper flame of imagination. Do not scorn the library because it stands quiet while the world shouts with noise. For within those walls lie kingdoms waiting to be entered, heroes waiting to be befriended, wisdom waiting to be gathered into your very soul. The glowing screen may show you what others have imagined; the turning page teaches you to imagine for yourself.

Therefore, let each of us take practical steps. Visit the library, even if only for an hour, and wander through shelves not yet known to you. Allow your hands to pull down a book at random, and see what hidden treasure awaits. Encourage children to taste the ancient nectar of stories, that their minds may grow strong. And when you meet the quiet guardian—the librarian, the teacher, the mentor—acknowledge their smile, for it is they who keep the flame alive across generations.

Thus, the words of Victoria Hanley are more than memory—they are a call to arms against forgetfulness. They remind us that wisdom is not found in noise, but in silence; not in the fleeting flash of TV, but in the enduring glow of the written word. Let us therefore honor the books, the fairy tales, the libraries, and the gentle smiles of those who protect them. For in these, the spirit grows wings, and learns to soar beyond the limits of time and place.