The irony of this is not lost on me. I spent my entire adolescence trying to make sure that NO ONE read my diaries, and here I am, posting them on the internet for all to see. But hey, I was 8 years old in most of these entries, so there’s really nothing too earth shattering here, unless you’re particularly interested in what I had for breakfast on October 12, 1978. But the thing is, they are so amazing to read now. At least they are for me (and hopefully somewhat entertaining for you).
My dad gave me my first journal for my 8th birthday. I distinctly remember not totally understanding what it was for, this odd little book with blank pages. But then he showed me his, a much more serious-looking, large black book, and he showed me how he would write in the date and some notes about his thoughts or what was important about the day. Apparently I took to the medium, as I now have pages and pages of crayon, pencil and marker- written notes about the minutiae of my life as a kid in the ’70s.
I know in this age of internet and blogs and video games, a journal is probably not at the top of most kids’ wish lists. It wasn’t at the top of mine, either. But every once in a while when I’m looking for something else I’ll stumble across these little diaries and read a couple of pages, and it’s like having a little time machine that can transport me back to age 8. What a gift!