They told me to call a lawyer. Instead, I put on a pot of coffee.
At 3:17 PM on a Tuesday, a notification flashed on my phone. By 3:30 PM, I wasn’t Mr. Sam, the librarian who has served this town for forty years. I was a “danger to the youth” and a “purveyor of filth.”
The post on the local “Concerned Parents” group had 400 shares in an hour.
The accuser was Brenda, a mother I’ve known since she was a cheerleader at this very high school. She posted a photo of a single paragraph from a book in my library. Taken out of context, the words looked dark. Violent. Ugly.
“Is this what our tax dollars are buying?” she wrote. “We are coming for your job, Sam.”
In the comment section, strangers were calling for my resignation. Some suggested burning the books. One person posted my home address.
I could have locked the library doors. I could have gone to the union rep. I could have hidden.
But I know something about fear. Fear grows in the dark. It dies in the light.
So, I didn’t call the police. I put on my best tie, brewed three gallons of decaf coffee, and taped a sign to the glass doors of the library:
OPEN HOUSE. TONIGHT AT 7 PM. EVERY BOOK IS ON TRIAL. COME SEE FOR YOURSELF.
