Under the Tree

It was a small square packatd neatly tied with red ribbon, somewhat lost smong the largr presents on Chistmas Day, 1955.  When I opened that packae to reveal my first diary I did not suspect that 50 years later the entries recorded there would evoke such a mixture of emotions or that these dates would help me place long forgotten events in my now somewhat unreliable memory.

The first entires are simple written in a childish script:  "I had fun today.  I played with my dog".  Certainly I found pleasure in simple ways in what were much less complicated times. 

Other entries marked milestones in history.  Desegration of schools is noted, "Today a black boy is in our class.  His name is Ruby." 

Later adolescent turmoil shows up in this statement, "I hate my mother.  She never understands me"  Shortly after,  coded entries show up.  I was terrified that my mother would read my words and all my terrible awful secrets would be revealed. 

This one stands out.  "I met a boy at the bowling alley today.  He is cute!"  Not so many years later at the age of 16 I married that cute boy, and ten years later our daughter found a small square package under the Christmas tree.