I have a personal essay up this week on Three Guys, One Book about how and when I fell in love—with reading. My essay focuses on who provided me with the books: my late grandpa, who died when I was 8, of esophageal cancer. He was only 52. Even though I didn’t get to spend more than those 8 years with him, he guided and influenced my life so much, most notably because he would bring me books with torn-off covers that he rescued from being pulverized or incinerated at a publishing company in Milwaukee.
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