Journaling

 My son, Brandon, maintains a very interesting blog titled “Brandon’s Notepad”.  He covers many subjects because he has many diverse interests.  I was reading a post about journal privacy and I brought out of the depths of my memory and incident involving me and my journal — and privacy.  It is a funny story so I don’t mind sharing.

Back in my youth, diary keeping was a popular pasttime.  My aunt kept journals all her life as did my cousin.  I wanted to keep a “dear diary” as well but I just didn’t possess the self discipline.  However, for some unknown reason, I decided to make a stab at it and it was probably not a good idea.

At the time I had had a row with a classmate — I won’t call her a friend because she was more of an annoyance but at any rate, we had a misunderstanding.  I decided to vent to my diary but the whole ordeal would require more paper than the little diary provided for that day.  So, I wrote my heart out on notebook paper and folded it to fit in the diary and promptly forgot about it.  I am sure I was ranting and raving which would have been ok but I chose to use a certain expletive to express my feelings.  One word.  One time.  That is all.  

Some time later I was cleaning off my book case, eyed the diary and opened it.  Upon re-reading the entry on notebook paper I decided that I needed to dispose of that, it had served its purpose allowing me to vent my anger without an actual verbal altercation with the girl and no feelings were hurt. Plus, I didn’t know whether my mother prowled around in my stuff or not, I wouldn’t have put it past her, but I just felt like that wasn’t something she needed to see, because of one word.  One time.

So, I tore it up into little pieces and tossed it in the toilet and sent it to its water demise.  The incident was forgotten until later that evening.  My mom was walking down the hall, found a tiny piece of paper with — wait for it — the word. Somehow I had managed to rip that paper to shreds but as luck would have it it tore precisely around the word — preserving it in its entirely.  And I accidentally dropped it.  Right next to the floor furnace — why didn’t it fall down the grate?   To say my mother flipped out would be mild, I was in tears — I was in trouble — and I had lot of  “splaining to do, Lucy”.  Well, I told the truth.  She accepted my explanation but I feel like, if she didn’t pry into my stuff before, she certainly did after that.  And that was ok because she gave me a bit of good advice that I have followed religiously since —

Don’t put anything in writing

And that is why I can’t keep a journal!  

The diary pictured is not my diary although mine is blue.  I was too lazy to go find it to take a photo but I do still have it, along with a pink “Ponytail” edition.  I will keep them forever — minus any addendums.