The Catcher in the Rye

After spending an evening with my youngest niece, I decided to take a short break from drama to read that book I read every Christmas break from the time I was about 16 or 17 to the time I was about 22 or 23* (she had just finished reading it for school). It was either junior or senior year in high school, right before Christmas break, when my English teacher Miss Burch had said she thought I’d enjoy it, and so I picked up a copy from The Book Emporium and read it. She was right; thus my annual reading of it. I guess I kind of knew where old Holden was coming from. I don’t know if I exactly got out of it what Miss Burch thought I would, but still.

We adults have probably all read it at least once. As teenagers, most likely. I’d invite you to read it again as an adult. I mean, 21 or so years later I still love the book. I read it differently, though, I think. I mean, jeez! I’m probably older than the oldest person mentioned in the book. Well maybe not older than the Spencers. Although to a 17-year-old, someone my age might seem to be a million years old, so they may not be that old. But, as usual, I digress. Back to the book.

As an adult I can see how old Holden’s taking everything way too seriously. Remember that? Remember how high school was soooo important How everything that everyone said and did we took so personally? How we felt like every tiny little thing in the world was “All. About. Me.” How we hated “phonies.” We, as old Mr. Antolini says, were on a path to “hate people who say ‘It’s a secret between he and I’.” We broke rules and got hurt and hurt others. We loved and hated and had to learn to forgive … everybody. Ourselves. Our parents and teachers. Our brothers and sisters. Our best friends. Our worst enemies. How in the heck did we get through that?

I wonder if maybe parents oughtta read this book when they have teenage children. I mean, it really reminded me of how it felt back then. And I think it would do a lot of us adults a lot of good to remember that sometimes.

Oh, by the way. This picture is of Patrick’s copy of the book. Mine is packed away in a “duplicate copies” box somewhere. He was a (self-described) maniac about keeping his books in near pristine condition. Like he barely opened them when he read them so he wouldn’t make any creases on the spine. I tried to keep from making creases in his book’s spine when I read it. If I hadn’t been so lazy, I would’ve searched for my ratty old copy so I wouldn’t’ve had worry about it… Oh well.