Buddy
I had a journal when I was eight years old. 1981. The first entry talks about my parents buying a color TV. Not the first people in the building but thankfully not the last. The second entry talks about a phone call in the middle of the night and my father telling us his uncle was dead. I cried myself to sleep.

Then comes this little fun story. A few of us were playing soccer for a while. Then, a young couple sat on a bench overlooking the field, and started making out. One by one, we left the game and moved to the bench next to the couple. I don’t remember that but I’m sure it happened because I made a drawing of two stick figures on a bench, and the man’s thin stick-figure hand reaches out for the two circles in the middle of the woman-stick-figure’s body.

Then I have a movie review. My mom took my sister and me to see Les Miserables (the Anthony Perkins version), and for about ten pages I retold the story of Jean Valjean. The color TV was a page and a half, my first encounter with death was about a page, and so was my first encounter with the glory of boobies. And a retelling of Les Miserables was ten pages. I needed an editor.

I probably still do.

The diary lasted a month, and then, like in so many other instances, I moved on. Maybe my parents bought me the Commodore 64, or maybe I ran out of pages and didn’t think of asking for another notebook, but there end my written childhood memories.

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Mixx
  • Google
  • Furl
  • Reddit
  • Spurl
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati