I discovered little treasures from different parts of my life: a college recommendation letter from my high school math teacher, essays written in high school, journals that John and I wrote in Ireland, stories about space aliens named Coca and Cola typed out by hand on an old fashioned typewriter, journals from high school English class.
But the biggest treasure of them all was this . . .
My diary - with the word PRIVATE emblazoned all over it with various pens, including the infamous "outliners" that were so popular in the early 80s. Remember those? Pens that wrote in silver that was outlined with your favorite color (mine was lavender).
The diary begins in December of 1978 which makes me think that it was a Christmas present. As I read the words written by my eight year old self, in lovely flowing cursive handwriting I might add, I realized that it sounded just like the stuff my own little eight year old writes. Everything is factual and the entries are like a list of the day's events without any traces of opinion or emotion. Here are some examples:
"I went to my Grandmother's house today. I was throwing blue snowflakes into the air. I was stealing cakes from the table." (snowflake throwing and cake stealing? good times)
"Today I went to school, as usual, and my friend Cathy played with me at recess. We played Coca-Cola and Laura-Linda. When I came home I did my homework and went outside. The 1st grade McGrath twins were out there. The twins broke a good carriage and made a mess in Vanessa's room." (those McGrath twins - always causing trouble!)
In this next entry I caught a small glimpse into my relationship with my little sister, who at the time adored me unconditionally. I actually remember this because she was so proud of me and it made me really happy.
"Today I didn't have any school. We took Vanessa to Nursery school. She kept on saying 'That's my big sister.' to everybody." (Aw.)
By June 1979 I was nine years old and I started expressing some opinions in my diary entries. They're still very matter of fact though and don't show a lot of emotion.
"Heather and David came over. We played War with cards. It was me against them. They won, of course. I think two against one isn't fair. I feel that it wasn't a fair game. I am going to camp tomorrow. I will have fun." (I love how I go from being mad about the card game to talking about going to camp.)
"My little sister broke her necklace today. She's a brat. She breaks everything. She just got it yesterday and it's already broken." (My poor sister, she was only four years old!)
Then all of a sudden the diary skips to February 1982 and I'm eleven years old going on twelve and the tone of the diary COMPLETELY changes. Suddenly I'm writing like I'm having a conversation with someone. Gone are the carefully written sentences about the day's events; instead the entries become a little more interesting. The diary continues from 1982 through 1984 and I see myself going from a twelve year old who is excited about passing an ice skating test and going to Hershey Park to a fourteen year old who only writes about boys and drama with her friends.
My 12 year old self:
"It was warm for two days and what do you know? It was 42 degrees today. I fnished my 5,000 word story. Whew! I got a lot of new, cute, beautiful stickers. I really am tired so I'd better go to bed. P.S. - the time is 9:52."
My 13 year old self:
"Well, I'm back. Today I was in a restaurant and I spilled Sprite all over myself. Then my watermelon flew through the air and on the floor. My mom also broke off half her toenail. Whew! What a day!" (I seem to really like using the word "Whew!")
"Toto died today. I came home from church and my father told us. I cried and cried. I've been dreading the day he'd die for so long." (sad - I remember when my poor dog died)
"You don't have to be beautiful to do a beautiful thing. You can be ugly as sin and ice skate beautifully. There was a guy on the Olympics yesterday and he was ugly, I mean really ugly! But he ice skated beautifully. Another example is writing. If you write something really messy and it has quality, it doesn't matter. A beautiful piece of literature can be written messy and still be beautiful. It's something to think about." (Deep thoughts for a thirteen year old)
My 14 year old self:
"Okay, brace yourselves! I've got a crush on someone in my class and it's driving me crazy. I like this really cute boy. The thing I like best about him is his smile. Only I wish he'd like me back. I don't think he knows I exist." (And this is where it all starts . . .)
"If only I didn't have to wear these dumb glasses, I'd look prettier." (Aaaaack!!)
"Yesterday was the last day of school but it still hasn't sunk in. I wonder if I'll cry at graduation. I feel like I won't, but I know I will. I'll miss everyone."
"My life is changing so quickly I don't know what's happening anymore."
"Well, I have a new diary waiting for me, a lavender one, so for more information on my life and love, refer to the little lavender diary. (wonder who I'm talking to!) So long, diary!"
It's amazing how much we change during those years. It makes me think of my own kids who are in the thick of it right now. It's a little scary to think that in a few short years Ella might be writing in a little diary of her own about some boy she likes and worrying about whether he likes her back and whether she's pretty enough. I don't want her ever to worry about things like that, but I know she will.
Coming up next: My sixteen year old self as seen through the pages of forced journal writing in high school English class.
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