Monday, January 28, 2008

And, in another box ... memories from '76 and '77

I was 15/16 years old.
And man, did I ever write about boys.
Oh my goodness. No, really. Oh. My. Goodness!

Not only did I keep diaries, I wrote in notebooks too.

Those two years were so pivotable in who I turned out to be. At one point, in one of those books, I just wrote a 20 page letter to myself, outlining all that had happened and how I felt about each boy that been a part of my life.

It's like I instinctively knew, I was making some life long decisions at age 16 and I needed to record all the details for future reference.

At one point, I really, really liked boy 1, and two sentences later, I'm talking about boy 2's eyes. Then the next day, boy 3 asks me out, and when I say I need to think about it, he asked my best friend to 'go around' with him. And then boy 4 came on the scene and confused me even worse.


The thing is, I only dated Mark. He was the only guy I ever kissed.


But I was mixed up about the other guys that were in my life. Or could have been in my life.


Reading all those diaries I kept in those days has shown me one thing. Sixteen is too young. I was told repeatedly from a variety of sources, that I was mature. Mature beyone my years. At school. At church. At work. At home. At sixteen, people were saying I acted older than other girls my age. I think that had me thinking I was mature enough to be caught up in a dating relationship.

But, wow. I so was not. Not. Not mature enough. I took it way too seriously. And I was one ditzy chick, let me tell you.

And it all started with this:

The Christmas dance the year I was in grade 10.
I was 15 years old and my notes about that night take up 22 pages.
"He came up behind me, and whispered in my ear, "Do you want to dance?" He put his hand on my waist and smiled at me. He asked me to go around with him. How can we go back to being friends in Socials when I know how he feels about me? Before it was all flirting and teasing and talking and being friends, but now he wants to kiss me. And that feels weird. And awkward. And I don't want to hurt his feelings but I don't think I'm ready to be a girlfriend. I just want things to stay the same. That we bump into each other at Guilford, and we work together on the annual. How come he wants to go around. Oh, that kiss was strange. All those lips."
And so on.
I've kept those books.
Maybe someday the kids will want to know how their very opposite dad and mom ever got together in the first place.
Or maybe I'll have a nosey granddaughter that wants to know her family's history... Posted by Picasa

1 comment:

Christine Lindsay said...

One thing all these journals prove, you're a writer. But good to get rid of them. Which reminds me, I better dash up stairs and do the same. :)