Addicted to History

Okay, how much of a geek am I?

I am obsessed with…wait for it…HISTORY.

I know! History???

But I just can't help it. I actually think it's genetic. I remember — as a kid, teenager, young adult — noticing with dismay the bedtime reading on my Dad's bedside table (yes, Ali, it's called a bedside table, not a nightstand 😉 ). Things like The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, and The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, and The Boer War (oh, there were many punny jokes about that title).

I once said to my sisters, "if I ever willingly read The Boer War, will you please take me out back and shoot me?"

Ahem. I think it's nearly time to invest in a kevlar wardrobe, here. I haven't quite made it as far as The Boer War, but I did find myself standing, jaw agape, pondering the wealth of stunningly interesting books on my Dad's bookshelves on a recent visit. During my month in Ontario, I read The Death of Alexander the Great, and (go figure) The First Century, before delving into The Middle Ages. I desperately also wanted to abscond with The Times Complete History of the World, but since I had just given it to my Dad as a Christmas present, I felt that restraint was the better impulse. It's quite lovely, though, isn't it?

So here I am, reading my Dad's books, working my way inexorably forward in time. And soon I know it'll happen. I'll reach out and pick up The Boer War and it will be over. The transformation will be complete.

I will have become Bobo (that's what his grandkids call him).

But actually, I'm old enough now to think that's pretty darn cool.