Preparing for the August 2014 release of When The Roll Is Called A Pyonder, a memoir of a Mennonite early childhood
I kept the little red notebook that mom gave me on my night stand tucked under my Bible on the shelf below the lamp and the kleneex box. I can’t say how I came to feel, at the age of nine, that it was important for me to record and remember the things that happened to me or how it was that I knew writing things down was a way of laying them down; of being able to clear my mind and heart for whatever the next day would bring. But as you will see, I clearly knew all of that. At nine I was bravely suffering the joyful misery of unrequited love for a boy named Neil in my second grade class. I loved animals, fishing, playing outside and going to school.
I have attempted to leave the spelling as much in tact as auto-correct will allow. Here is how we will begin:
March 10, 1980
Today I stayed home from school. I was sick. We watched Little House On the Praire. Laura met Almanzo. Nellie had her own restrant but she didn’t like to cook!
March 11, 1980
Today I went to school for the first time in a week and a day. We are studying Niagra. I like Neil. My teacher is Mrs. Mentzer, sometimes she is nice. I sit in the back row in school. My reading book is Lippencot 3:1. My best friend is Karen. In school I sit next to Cory Gibble.
My sister Wanda and I, about 1975 wearing dresses mom made for us.
Anyone else remember rick-rack?
More entries coming next week…