Like I said, I was around ten or so when I read Tunnel Through Time. I lived in Indiana then, far out in the country. Our TV was on the fritz that summer and my dad was laid off so we couldn’t afford a new one. I hated my dad being out of work, not because of the lack of money but because he was always around, and he and my step-mom fought constantly, especially after they’d had a few drinks. A lot of the time I just escaped into the deep woods that surrounded our house back then. (I went back once, a few years ago, and all those trees had been cut down for lumber, or farmland, or whatever the fuck. Progress, huh?)
But sometimes I retreated to my room and read (or wrote). Around one of those times, I found this book, or it found me. It’s about this boy named Bob Miller whose father, Sam, is a physicist and inventor. The father and son get along famously. And when Sam’s friend, Doc Tom, gets trapped in the past in a time travel experiment, Sam trusts Bob and Doc Tom’s son, Pete, to go after him.
I remember lying on my bed reading this book while summer rain fell outside my window. I don’t know if that’s a true memory or not, and it doesn’t really matter. I remember it that way, and that makes it mine.
I love this book, and for much more than just the story, though I love that too. It’s my own little time machine that I can take back to a time where I found a magic hiding place, a good place where no one could find me in the midst of that not-so-good place.
Love, trust, and escape, not to mention wild adventure and dinosaurs. What wasn’t to love for a little boy who would have given anything to be anywhere else but where he was?
No wonder I love books so much.