When I was a kid I was so intrigued by adults, seeing them as different creatures than my own species. How, I wondered, do children “grow up?” When does it happen? Those tall creatures do not look or act like us. They don’t talk like kids do… Were they really once kids themselves? I’m not so sure…
I had a great curiosity about my parents in particular. I wanted to know what they were like as kids, as teenagers, as young adults… I was desperate to know their history. What did they think about when they were my age? What did they spend their time doing? What were their friends like? I wanted to know if what I was thinking and going through as a kid was normal. Will I be an adult like them someday?
It’s these constant ponderings that left me desperately wishing that my parents had kept journals as they were growing up. I had great parents who often empathized with my struggles by saying, “I understand what you’re going through.” But it would have been so much more believable if they would have been able to say that in a kid-way. Were you confused about the world like I am? Did you have a monstrous mountain of fears that you were able to overcome in order to enter adulthood? When did you get everything figured out? And for goodness-sake, when did those eyes in the back of your head enter the picture? Does that come with parenthood, or did you earn that super-power when you became a teacher? Will I have that skill when I am big?
They told me they were once kids, but really? I just couldn’t see it…. If only they had kept records from their kid-brains. Then I would have believed it. Then I would have known everything would be alright and that I too would one day confidently enter the wise world of adulthood.
From these “I wish”es came my passion for keeping a diary. I thought, “My parents didn’t know they would one day have a little girl who desperately wanted to read their childhood thoughts. But I might have a kid one day that desires to know mine. So I’ll keep a diary in order to convince my child that I was a kid too.” (I have always been a long-term thinker.)
I received my first diary when I was seven. (Along with Bedtime Barbie.)
Now I have 14… yes, FOURTEEN journals full of my childish (and some not-so-childish ramblings). I haven’t read them in over a decade. But I pulled them out last night finally ready to revisit my growing-up years. My first diary was the smallest and silliest. I read that one to Joel last night. We laughed so hard, and I rolled my eyes and blushed a lot.
My diary is so classic for a little girl. Every other page is full of romantic dreams, and the remaining ones reflect friend-drama. Solomon saw my diaries out this morning and was very intrigued. When I told him what they were, he was chomping at the bit to read them… No no no… hold up…. I’m not ready for this.
It’s funny. The whole reason I began writing in the first place was to one day share with my own children. Now that I have a son who is the age I was when I started writing, I am resistant! I don’t have any secrets, but I also don’t want him reading my foolish ramblings and thinking that this is how a child’s brain should operate.
I will still share my diaries with my children, but not yet. And not without commentary. Golly, I didn’t know my life would be a movie I would have to watch with my kids while commentating: “I thought like this, but here is a better way to handle this type of a situation…” I think it will be fun to go through with my kids, but I’m not ready for that adventure quite yet. 🙂
So for now I will begin with you, dear reader. I am going to start a “Dear Diary” section on this blog where I post something from my diary and add adult commentary to my very silly, raw, unedited ramblings.
So to kick off my “Dear Diary” posts, here’s one I think most girls growing up in the 90’s can relate to…
June 5, 1995 (I was 8 yrs old.)
I saw a boy on tv that was very cute! His name is Jonathan Taylor Thomas. There is another boy on Casper, and he is very cute also.
Classic, right? And so the fun begins…