Wednesday, 20 February 2013

From the Bottom of the Box, Part I

Some of my old journals have come back into my hands recently. My parents cleaned out their basement a couple of months ago and dumped a box of my old things at my place. All of it still smells like my old home (musty basement smell, but so sweet for all the memories it brings up).
I used to keep journals/diaries sporadically, not ever really writing on a daily basis. Surprisingly, I remembered the combinations to open the locks on them, though I had to cut the oldest one open because it was locked with a key lock which I lost the key for. It was quite something, to step back in time, as much as 20 years in one! I’ve realized after reading through them that I have changed, but I’ve also, in many ways, stayed much the same (more on this in later posts).
In the oldest one I found, my mother wrote the first entries for me. Here’s an excerpt from the first entry on January 8, 1993 (don’t worry, nothing too personal!):

At school I worked and played outside. In the class I played with Barbie dolls and blocks. I shared my cookies with James. My mom bought this diary for me tonight.

Funny enough, I sort of remember dictating this to my mom. It’s interesting to see how I thought as a six year old. And I still keep in touch with James!
The first entry I wrote on my own, in sprawling, crooked block letters (how cute!) was on November 16, 1993 (I’m leaving in the spelling errors I made):

I love Jacob and Randy. My friend is Aubrey every day I paly with My friend Audrey and sometimes I paly with Ashley [last name withheld].

And how awesome, my dad wrote for me on the next page! That was the time my mom was away to get an operation. I remember my dad cooking us eggs for dinner, but I didn’t remember that he helped me write in my diary. I recognize his tiny handwriting. And then right at the end, I write: Mind Cat Bad
The entry my dad wrote for me.
The cat I am talking about can only be Rambo, the warrior cat of my youth. He was orange and white and all muscle. He had so many scars and his ears were halfway gone from all the fights he got in. But I never once saw another male cat in our yard when I was younger. How could I tell the ones I did see weren’t male? I don’t know and don’t ask!
I will have to show this to my parents.
To be continued…

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