One of my favorite books when I was very small was a book about a toy wooden horse who came alive. I remember opening the book, feeling the pages in my hands. It was so familiar and to this day the image of the painted horse stays in my mind over fifty years later. The book itself was probably passed down to me, I was the youngest in the family and the recipient of many books, which turned out were not to be mine but to revert to the original owners.
Upon finding this out in my mid-twenties when I was ready to take some books for my own children, I was told, “Oh no, those are D’s or P’s, they were never yours.”