When I was in the vicinity of 6th grade, my mom sent me to church camp in the Sierra Nevadas. I was sooooo excited to go.I love camp
+ I love church
= awesomeness! Unfortunately I was also a tween (a homeschooled tween before tweens even existed, but some attitudes never change) and therefore perpetually embarassed. About everything. My mom picked up a hot pink shirt for me to take (as get-dirty clothing) with a picture of a bear's head on it and the logo for Bear's Breath Bar & Grill. I was mortified. Mortified. I didn't always have the best hygiene growing up, and my family let me know it. Sometimes I did have bear's breath, hence this hit too close to home to make a joke about it. I emailed a friend (from my earthlink address!) about it ("it" being my mom's horrible, awful taste in clothing), and my mom read it, and there were tears. This is why I never kept a journal. I was always afraid someone would find it. By the way, I saw someone recently wearing almost that exact same shirt and I was completely fixated on it and the rush of memories it brought. Hopefully whoever it was didn't think I was a total weirdo.
Yep, journals are for weak people. Vulnerable people, willing to let their emotions drip all over other people. People who secretly want you to know their secrets. OK that's what I thought until I was about 14. At which point I still did not start keeping a journal.
Luckily, though, as previously mentioned, I did make a few entries in one when I was 7 and 8 years old. It's lucky because if I didn't the world wouldn't have this awesome look at the inside of Martha's Attitude (and aversion to extra letters, regardless of whether they're necessary):
Thursday, March 25, 1993
We are at 519 [the clinic at Ft Clayton, Panama] waiting for an apointment for Leslie for all her bloody noses and her swellings. There was a very anoying mowing machine outside a few minutes ago but we came upstairs so I can't hear it anymore. My Coach Pitch coach is a dentist and he just walked past me twice and didn't notice me. Mom went into the opointment with Leslie so I am left to babysit Thomas and Gail. They are both being very wild. Thomas is wating in a completly different room.
Mom and Leslie have come out and we are waiting for Leslie's medicine. A very nice couple from square dancing are here also waiting. There is a T.V. across the room that is playing a drug show. I also saw my old assistant swim team coach there.
Um, no wonder my family teased me for being a bit of a wet blanket. I can just picture me sulkily writing in my journal about how I'm supposed to be watching Thomas, while he's bouncing off the walls in a completely different room.
We were talking at Bible Study yesterday about the value of journaling and how it helps you focus on what you're learning from what you read (in said Bible, in this case) and also on how it allows you to go back years later and THANK GOD that He's brought you to a place of greater maturity, gratitude, humility, etc. I still have a weird embarassment about keeping a journal. I even get embarassed when I go back and read old blog posts, and those are designed to be public! So strange. My journaling aversion is even stranger when you take into account my inability to think straight when I'm not writing things down. Maybe I'm just afraid of what I'll find out about myself if I start writing.
Woah, I'm going to be embarassed when I go back and read that later!
Woah, I'm going to be embarassed when I go back and read that later!
3 comments:
I feel the same way.
I think I learned it from my mother who abhorred writing letters (this in the days when the pony was the only way to get family news - or that new contraption the telephone. To call you had to phone an operator, tell her who you wanted to speak to, and then she'd call you back a few minutes later when the call was connected. Yes, I remember those days and they weren't that long ago!) because she hated to put anything in writing.
I don't know where that came from in her, but it rubbed off on me. Which makes things hard, because I LOVE to write, I just don't want anyone to read it! Sometimes I am uncomfortable reading it myself! So I have a super secret private blog - or an on-line journal, I guess you could call it.
But I do love reading yours!!!!
PS anything in those Panama days about our trip to Rio Mar and all the jellyfish?
Dear Martha,
This is your mother (Hi there!). I just have one comment to add to your blog: I don't recall a single tear shed over that t-shirt (who cried, anyway?). But this just goes to remind me of the trauma my discount-diva treasures caused to my offspring, and explains the accounting that will be required of me in my last hour. But dang it was useful for $2. I bet you're still flossing.
Mom: It was definitely me that cried! I felt really bad for trash-talking that shirt. Oh yeah, and I was embarassed that I got caught.
Anam Cara: I didn't record anything useful about what we actually did--but luckily Rio Mar and jellyfish sting memories are immortal!
Post a Comment