(Originally posted January 27, 2019)
A while back I found my old five-year diary. A Christmas present from my mom, I began writing in it in 1970 (when I was 11) and finished in 1974 (when I was 16). It’s interesting (and, at times, embarrassing) to re-read the things I deemed important at those ages. Preparing for an upcoming blog challenge, I’ve decided to bare all and share entries from specific days. I’ll also include a commentary or notes to my younger self. Enjoy!
January 27.
*1970 (age 11): Dad’s birthday today. #49. Had a sore throat and stayed home [from school]. Wrapped Dad’s present, had birthday cake.
Even though I stayed home, I still wrapped his present and enjoyed the cake.
*1971 (age 12): DAD 50. HAD A FAMILY PARTY. OUR FAMILY (5 of us). I MADE & DECORATED THE CAKE.
I must have been excited, as the above entry was written in pink marker and outlined in blue.
*1972 (age 13): THUR. Avon – Dad’s birthday – 51.
Apparently, the Avon delivery was just as important at my dad’s birthday!
*1973 (age 14): DAD’S 52 BIRTHDAY. Got him a box of See’s candy.
Dad loved See’s candy. He kept boxes of it hidden in his closet. I once got caught pilfering his stash. The punishment (no TV for a week) was worth it. I loved See’s candy also.
*1974 (age 15): Sun. Today me and Vicki went to Roeding Park, hoping to find a place to play tennis (no room) so we went on the rides and ate lunch there, then went to Fresno High, played tennis and then Frisbee at her house.
Vicki and I became friends in 1968 when my family moved from Bakersfield (CA) to Fresno (CA). We played a lot of tennis, rode bikes, and wrote stories together. We are still friends to this day.
~~~
I find it interesting how the first four years I noted my dad’s birthday (year and celebration plans), yet the last year it was all about me and my friend Vicki’s plans. Not even a mention of my dad or his birthday.
Note to younger self: Cherish every day with your dad. As of today (2019) Dad’s been gone for almost nine years. You’ll wish you could have one more day with him to tell him how much he meant to you and how much you miss him.
Whoa. Just reading these first pages made me cry. We chose similar outlets in our lives, but my childhood was demonstrably different–although it started out wonderfully. But my father died when I was eight. I began writing a year later. The diary I began to keep in junior high was eventually filled with entries about my wicked step-father whom my mother married in my 9th grade year, and the abuse I suffered from him–in every way. He was only part of what led to my clinical depression at age 15. So glad I survived it! I’m making up for it all now by living my best life!