A few weeks ago I wrote a column about the effects of radioactivity in the environment.

In that column, I made a reference to my infant son, Erik, and the troubles he’d been having with his stomach.

Lately, I’ve ran into a lot of people who read the column and ask how Erik is doing. I really appreciate your concern and your questions.

Erik is doing really well. The “radioactive cocktail” the doctors force-fed him showed his formula was not leaking into his lungs.

Since then, the problem has corrected itself (although he is still not allowed to sleep laying down). He is much happier now; a smile can be found on his face almost every waking hour.

I even taught him how to stick out his tongue at people. He thinks it’s a game and gets a big kick out of it every time.

I have assimilated myself into the parenthood role completely. I can honestly say that having my son is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I am fortunate to have a loving fianc‚e and a very helpful family on my side.

Like most parents, I enjoy buying my son toys. The other day I bought him a gigantic Winnie the Pooh doll and a Grateful Dead bear.

The Pooh doll scares him quite a bit, so I have it stored away for the time being. But he loves the Dead bear a whole lot (he also likes to stare at my tie-dyes for hours on end).

Towards the end of our little trip to the mall, I decided to buy him a book, “The Tale of Peter Rabbit” by Beatrix Potter, to be exact. I thought that would be an excellent book to start reading to him.

I was surprised to find the book amongst the bookstore’s latest display.

The display was to celebrate National Banned Books Week, which has been going on all of this week.

I stopped the woman working there to find out why this book was part of the display. She didn’t know, but thought it had something to do with cruelty to animals or something along those lines.

Well, I bought the book anyway.

I took it home and couldn’t find anything in it that would have led to its banishment.

Then I shuffled off to my adolescent literature course where we are reading a book, “Annie On My Mind” by Nancy Garden, which had been banned because it deals with homosexuality.

During the course of the class, a handout was distributed with a list of books that have been banned in various parts of the country. Of course, Mark Twain’s “Huckleberry Finn” and “Tom Sawyer” were on the list for their racist attitudes. (When I was down South, I was surprised to run into a book burning by predominantly white Baptist men; of course, Twain was on the top of the pile to be burned.)

Some of the selection of books were less than surprising: “The Bible,” George Orwell’s “Animal Farm,” Joseph Heller’s “Catch 22,” Anthony Burgess’ “A Clockwork Orange,” Alice Walker’s “The Color Purple,” Tom Wolfe’s “Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test” and Ken Kesey’s “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest” were also obvious choices.

But I was surprised by some of the books that have been banned in this country. Can you imagine anybody wanting to ban Raold Dahl’s “James and the Giant Peach,” A. A. Milne’s “Winnie the Pooh” or J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Hobbit”?

Or how about the poetry of Shel Silverstein, the plays of William Shakespeare (although I can understand the rationale behind the banning of “Romeo and Juliet,” even if I don’t support it) or the stories of Judy Blume?

All of these books are on the banned books list. Somebody somewhere decided these books were inappropriate to be read or taught in the classroom.

Now, who has the right to decide what should or shouldn’t be read? The answer is painfully simple — nobody. Literature of all kinds is protected by the First Amendment.

Everything that has ever been published, including pornography and the “Anarchist’s Cookbook,” has a Constitutional right to be available to the public.

If the public doesn’t want to see the newest issue of “Big ‘Uns,” they don’t have to buy it. Nobody is holding a gun to their head forcing them to read it or give it to their children.

If parents don’t want their children to be exposed to Winnie the Pooh (which is damn near impossible — Pooh is hotter than hell at the moment), then don’t bring it into the home.

But don’t force a community or school to ban literature. It is clandestine and it is wrong. Banning literature is just one more step in undermining the Constitution.

If you can decide what books I can read, why can’t I tell you which church to attend? If you tell me that I can’t read a book, I’m going to tell you that your family can’t gather for Thanksgiving.

You see, the street runs both ways.

I bought Erik “The Tales of Peter Rabbit” and “Winnie the Pooh.”

I’m sure we will both enjoy them immensely. It is a shame that other families around the country cannot.

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Ben Jones is a sophomore in English from Des Moines.