Oh, my, Rona. I think this one is in my top 2 or 3 of your essays. Even though our details are different, I put myself in your place. I talk to my former self, my inner teen, (and child), on a regular basis. The Maya Angelou quote is one of my favorite, she was spot on. I know that from my own experience, my evolution. My teen self is still very present in all that makes me, me. She's my fighter, my activist. She's my truth teller, and my moral compass, often. And sometimes my little self (the 5-6 year-old) helps. She has a strong take on justice. Those kid parts of me help keep older me honest. AND thank you for posting about the slam. I'll definitely be there! xo
This is gorgeous, Rona. I was teary throughout. I can only imagine how this younger version of you would feel, to be so fully seen with so much compassion and wisdom. I loved everything in this piece, and the ending is just perfect. I'll come back to reread this one, for sure.
Thank you, Rob. I read your latest as you were restacking mine and felt these two essays were talking to each other about the yearning, the danger and the wonder of adolescence.
Beautiful reflections on the strange perspective of looking back at our teenage selves through our diaries. I love the word "kiddo." I kept a diary from about 9 or 10 until well into my 50s (I'm 72 now). I've published essays drawn from my writings and performed (read aloud) curated excerpts in the comedy show "Mortified," so I'm deeply acquainted with my teen and preteen self and have come to love her and have compassion for all of her angst and energy. I also wrote my MSW master's thesis on the developmental functions of diary writing for teenage girls, so I'd be happy to share that with you if you're curious! Finally, my just-published book, a linked set of 70 micro-memoirs of 70 words each called "Escape Velocity: How One 70-Year-Old Push-Pulled Her Way Out of Her Too-Much-Not-Enough Family," has a number of excerpts from those diaries and reflections on what the hell to do with the massive carton of journals in my closet! Thanks for your work and your honesty, Rona!
Wow, Deborah. What a fascinating project. Are your teenage musings less embarrassing than mine, I wonder? Anne Frank’s diary is all the more breathtaking when you consider what most of us write in our journals. How did you go about researching that thesis? Did you immerse yourself in teen diaries?
Reading my teen diaries to a nightclub full of strangers in "Mortified" resolved the embarrassment/shame issue forever. So healing to share and hear others' entries! Universal shame and angst. My thesis research was not about my own diaries. I did read published teen diaries, but, basically, I interviewed 6 or 7 women over 18 y.o. who had kept a diary between ages 12 and 18. This was in the days of plastering flyers on bulletin boards! My hypothesis was that the diary served a relational function, kind of like a child's transitional object, that helped the diarist bridge the "second separation-individuation" of adolescence (the first being in toddlerhood). (My grad school, Smith, was super psychoanalytic.) I asked about their *relationship* to their diary--did they name it, how did they feel before/during/after writing, did they fear its discovery, where/when did they write, etc. I concluded that the diary serves various developmental functions like mirror, confidante, soother, impulse inhibitor, as well as historical chronicle, etc. I have the PDF of the 1983 scholarly article that was drawn from my research (and which, I found out recently, is often cited in the literature!). The research subjects also shared some diary content that they allowed me to use. Oh! One of those women showed up in a writing workshop of mine decades later--it took us a while to figure out how we knew each other. It was so exciting! (Apologies for length. Let's connect about this off Substack! I'd love to hear more about your experience.)
What an opening! And an open invitation to every reader to write a letter to their own teenage selves. This essay shows life as a maze we all somehow manage to get through. In the end, we remain mysteries, to ourselves most of all.
Thank you, Brooks. This would be a great prompt. Looking back on the kids in my hometown, I see violent deaths in a car crash, two psychotic breaks with permanent consequences, one murder (abducted on a fake babysitting job while trying to help her family stay afloat), much general misery. Yet most teenagers do make it through. Kids can be astonishingly resilient, and even in their anguish they cling to hope. I certainly did.
“Until you start loving, you’ll be hard to love.”“Dickens captured the cost of growing up…”The entire paragraph, my favorite. Looking back over my shoulder, I think I was one of a very few that had a wonderful family. A decent experience from grade school on up. Maybe it’s because I kept a diary too early on but not long enough, my sister found the key, the end. Now I only have the good memories laced on the outside—though I do remember well, the day I told my mom: I’m cutting your apron strings today, they are strangling me. I remember and will never forget, she taught me love, showed me beauty at every opportunity. When I reached your ending, the carrot cake, the friend, tears welled up. I do love a good carrot cake, and our infamous wedding knife plunged into a well decorated carrot cake, that proverbial piece, stuffed in each other’s mouths, sealed with a lifetime of love—but it was looking for the friend that did it. I had a wonderful friend in college, we kept in touch for a good number of years after. She even visited me at the home I live in now. Thinking of her last month, I searched online to find her again, but to no avail. Her dad, a very famous children’s author, I figured I would send him an email, only to find that he died. Finally, I found her brother’s name, he wrote a text in social media a year before, mentioning his sister died. He had a photo of her, taken from behind, as she was known for her beautiful long hair. Only one photo, no explanation, no loving comments, no response to my text—but in the photo was a fabric, loosely stitched together, cat with a painted face. I recognized that cat. I had one too, a gift of love from her visit to my home. So many wonderful pearls in ‘Dear Kiddo’, Rona. I am heading outside for my daily need to hike in the woods, I know I will be seeing flashes of my youth in the leafless depths of the forest.
On that same visit, she also gifted us one of his books he wrote for her; Papa Please Get Me The Moon. He signed it and she did too, with a lovely note to me and my husband. When I’m ready, I think I will donate it to the museum. Maybe you will see it there on your visit someday.
Thanks for this reveal prompt. I've often wondered if people really change with age. You clarify that ponder with Do we grow up or just get old? I reread my childhood-teen diaries and mostly feel I'm still the same girl, with the same feelings...hopes, desires, anxiety, disappointments etc. But my adult self now understands the reasons why, can make amends, accept, find ways to cope and embrace. That's the growing part.
Heartfelt thanks to everyone who shared an impression or a memory. The floodgates have opened and I am having trouble keeping up. Although I strive to answer every comment, something strange is happening on Substack and comments are disappearing as I try to respond. I remember seeing one, then it's gone. Apologies.
These tender words to a younger version of yourself remind me of the lyrics to a song by Faces (Rod Stewart's former band). The song is a conversation between a grandfather/grandson and ends with these lyrics:
Brilliant idea. I read this earlier and wanted to think about it and now there are so many comments, I wonder where to start. I kept a diary for much of my teens and then threw them all away. When I think about that time, where I was very unhappy, bullied at school and oh so unsure of myself, I can see the chrysalis of what I became – very honest, helpful to others, very reflective about everything but not seeing where I was going. And, like you, how could I have guessed that I would end up in another country, married to a foreign man who understood me like no other and doing a job I would never have heard of (latter less true of you, I guess). Yet still very honest, helpful and very reflective. And so much happier in ways I could not have imagined and done things I would never have imagined. You sure got me thinking today, Thanks,
It’s usually impossible to see where you’re going at 17. The wonder is that so many of us go on to lead reasonably satisfying lives. Tunnel vision and illusion are embedded in adolescence.
So much here. I thought of myself as I read this, and wish I’d been brave enough to keep a journal during those teen years, but I was too focused on hiding what was within begging to see the light of day. Still I remember that girl. She’s still with me.
We might have been friends if we’d known each other. We’d have met in the group who were called Drama Club weirdos. I think I’d been a bit cautious around you though. You seem too cool and maybe aloof for me. I’d be afraid you’d see me for how uncool I was.
Thank you for writing this. I’ll be thinking on it. Reflecting. I’ll be giving thanks that we can grow up and be grateful for all it took to get wherever we are.
You’re right, I was aloof and probably a bit intimidating. I couldn’t trust people to like me and shielded myself from rejection. God, it’s hard to be young. Old has its downside but it sure beats young.
Blown away by the creativity and honesty in this piece, Rona and so beautifully written, thought-provoking, and moving ( & I also played Helen Keller in high school -- which changed my life -- i knew I had to become a professional actor after that indelible experience).....What I would say to the teenage girl I was. Well, I'll have to get back to you on that. HA! So much to ponder.....
Well, as you see, I didn’t become a professional actor. That role showed me my limits, although I didn’t become perfectly fine for a high schooler. I’m so glad this essy left you thinking and remembering.
But you did become a professional writer and a beautiful one at that! So fascinating to imagine what our teenage selves would approve and/or disapprove of — in terms of our adult choices (personally and professionally)…brava yet again!
Oh, my, Rona. I think this one is in my top 2 or 3 of your essays. Even though our details are different, I put myself in your place. I talk to my former self, my inner teen, (and child), on a regular basis. The Maya Angelou quote is one of my favorite, she was spot on. I know that from my own experience, my evolution. My teen self is still very present in all that makes me, me. She's my fighter, my activist. She's my truth teller, and my moral compass, often. And sometimes my little self (the 5-6 year-old) helps. She has a strong take on justice. Those kid parts of me help keep older me honest. AND thank you for posting about the slam. I'll definitely be there! xo
What would we do without Nan? At the slam or anywhere. I’m glad this one hit your sweet spot.
This is gorgeous, Rona. I was teary throughout. I can only imagine how this younger version of you would feel, to be so fully seen with so much compassion and wisdom. I loved everything in this piece, and the ending is just perfect. I'll come back to reread this one, for sure.
Thank you, Rob. I read your latest as you were restacking mine and felt these two essays were talking to each other about the yearning, the danger and the wonder of adolescence.
What a great coincidence this was, and I immediately thought the same thing! Your piece will stay with me.
Beautiful reflections on the strange perspective of looking back at our teenage selves through our diaries. I love the word "kiddo." I kept a diary from about 9 or 10 until well into my 50s (I'm 72 now). I've published essays drawn from my writings and performed (read aloud) curated excerpts in the comedy show "Mortified," so I'm deeply acquainted with my teen and preteen self and have come to love her and have compassion for all of her angst and energy. I also wrote my MSW master's thesis on the developmental functions of diary writing for teenage girls, so I'd be happy to share that with you if you're curious! Finally, my just-published book, a linked set of 70 micro-memoirs of 70 words each called "Escape Velocity: How One 70-Year-Old Push-Pulled Her Way Out of Her Too-Much-Not-Enough Family," has a number of excerpts from those diaries and reflections on what the hell to do with the massive carton of journals in my closet! Thanks for your work and your honesty, Rona!
Wow, Deborah. What a fascinating project. Are your teenage musings less embarrassing than mine, I wonder? Anne Frank’s diary is all the more breathtaking when you consider what most of us write in our journals. How did you go about researching that thesis? Did you immerse yourself in teen diaries?
Reading my teen diaries to a nightclub full of strangers in "Mortified" resolved the embarrassment/shame issue forever. So healing to share and hear others' entries! Universal shame and angst. My thesis research was not about my own diaries. I did read published teen diaries, but, basically, I interviewed 6 or 7 women over 18 y.o. who had kept a diary between ages 12 and 18. This was in the days of plastering flyers on bulletin boards! My hypothesis was that the diary served a relational function, kind of like a child's transitional object, that helped the diarist bridge the "second separation-individuation" of adolescence (the first being in toddlerhood). (My grad school, Smith, was super psychoanalytic.) I asked about their *relationship* to their diary--did they name it, how did they feel before/during/after writing, did they fear its discovery, where/when did they write, etc. I concluded that the diary serves various developmental functions like mirror, confidante, soother, impulse inhibitor, as well as historical chronicle, etc. I have the PDF of the 1983 scholarly article that was drawn from my research (and which, I found out recently, is often cited in the literature!). The research subjects also shared some diary content that they allowed me to use. Oh! One of those women showed up in a writing workshop of mine decades later--it took us a while to figure out how we knew each other. It was so exciting! (Apologies for length. Let's connect about this off Substack! I'd love to hear more about your experience.)
I'd enjoy that, Deborah.
I just messaged you. :)
What an opening! And an open invitation to every reader to write a letter to their own teenage selves. This essay shows life as a maze we all somehow manage to get through. In the end, we remain mysteries, to ourselves most of all.
Thank you, Brooks. This would be a great prompt. Looking back on the kids in my hometown, I see violent deaths in a car crash, two psychotic breaks with permanent consequences, one murder (abducted on a fake babysitting job while trying to help her family stay afloat), much general misery. Yet most teenagers do make it through. Kids can be astonishingly resilient, and even in their anguish they cling to hope. I certainly did.
“Until you start loving, you’ll be hard to love.”“Dickens captured the cost of growing up…”The entire paragraph, my favorite. Looking back over my shoulder, I think I was one of a very few that had a wonderful family. A decent experience from grade school on up. Maybe it’s because I kept a diary too early on but not long enough, my sister found the key, the end. Now I only have the good memories laced on the outside—though I do remember well, the day I told my mom: I’m cutting your apron strings today, they are strangling me. I remember and will never forget, she taught me love, showed me beauty at every opportunity. When I reached your ending, the carrot cake, the friend, tears welled up. I do love a good carrot cake, and our infamous wedding knife plunged into a well decorated carrot cake, that proverbial piece, stuffed in each other’s mouths, sealed with a lifetime of love—but it was looking for the friend that did it. I had a wonderful friend in college, we kept in touch for a good number of years after. She even visited me at the home I live in now. Thinking of her last month, I searched online to find her again, but to no avail. Her dad, a very famous children’s author, I figured I would send him an email, only to find that he died. Finally, I found her brother’s name, he wrote a text in social media a year before, mentioning his sister died. He had a photo of her, taken from behind, as she was known for her beautiful long hair. Only one photo, no explanation, no loving comments, no response to my text—but in the photo was a fabric, loosely stitched together, cat with a painted face. I recognized that cat. I had one too, a gift of love from her visit to my home. So many wonderful pearls in ‘Dear Kiddo’, Rona. I am heading outside for my daily need to hike in the woods, I know I will be seeing flashes of my youth in the leafless depths of the forest.
Lor, what a generous, resonant and just plain beautiful comment. I particularly love the ending.
Thank you,Rona! I thought you might wonder who the father was; Eric Carle.
I did wonder. The Very Hungry Caterpillar! Carle has a museum I would love to see one day.
On that same visit, she also gifted us one of his books he wrote for her; Papa Please Get Me The Moon. He signed it and she did too, with a lovely note to me and my husband. When I’m ready, I think I will donate it to the museum. Maybe you will see it there on your visit someday.
It’s a great museum and as a kids book author your story and contacts Lor resonated. The smallness of the world.
I recognise myself, although I was in a different place altogether in the class of '68. I hope the girl answers. I hope you try again.
None of us are as unique as we think we are in our clueless adolescence. Some experiences are universal. It's a comforting discovery.
Thanks for this reveal prompt. I've often wondered if people really change with age. You clarify that ponder with Do we grow up or just get old? I reread my childhood-teen diaries and mostly feel I'm still the same girl, with the same feelings...hopes, desires, anxiety, disappointments etc. But my adult self now understands the reasons why, can make amends, accept, find ways to cope and embrace. That's the growing part.
Heartfelt thanks to everyone who shared an impression or a memory. The floodgates have opened and I am having trouble keeping up. Although I strive to answer every comment, something strange is happening on Substack and comments are disappearing as I try to respond. I remember seeing one, then it's gone. Apologies.
Interesting concept - the difference between growing up and getting older.
That was Maya Angelou's insight, one I've thought about for years. And e.e. cummings said, "down they forgot as up they grew."
Both are perfect.
So incredibly relatable. I know that “kiddo.” Just a year ahead of her in school. Far too careless.
Well, most of us are when we're young. And most of us become a little more careful.
These tender words to a younger version of yourself remind me of the lyrics to a song by Faces (Rod Stewart's former band). The song is a conversation between a grandfather/grandson and ends with these lyrics:
Poor young grandson there's nothing I can say
You'll have to learn, just like me
And that's the hardest way
Ooh la la
Ooh la la, la la, yeah
I wish that I knew what I know now
When I was younger
I wish that I knew what I know now
When I was stronger
Yep! A universal truth, and to discover it you must be a certain age.
My eyes are filling. My god, you get right back in there, a skilled surgeon finding all the wounds and leaving the tender parts alone.
I deeply admire your candor and willingness to bare it all.
Your writing is sublime.
Pam, what a high compliment. I am touched and glad to have you as my reader.
Brilliant idea. I read this earlier and wanted to think about it and now there are so many comments, I wonder where to start. I kept a diary for much of my teens and then threw them all away. When I think about that time, where I was very unhappy, bullied at school and oh so unsure of myself, I can see the chrysalis of what I became – very honest, helpful to others, very reflective about everything but not seeing where I was going. And, like you, how could I have guessed that I would end up in another country, married to a foreign man who understood me like no other and doing a job I would never have heard of (latter less true of you, I guess). Yet still very honest, helpful and very reflective. And so much happier in ways I could not have imagined and done things I would never have imagined. You sure got me thinking today, Thanks,
It’s usually impossible to see where you’re going at 17. The wonder is that so many of us go on to lead reasonably satisfying lives. Tunnel vision and illusion are embedded in adolescence.
So much here. I thought of myself as I read this, and wish I’d been brave enough to keep a journal during those teen years, but I was too focused on hiding what was within begging to see the light of day. Still I remember that girl. She’s still with me.
We might have been friends if we’d known each other. We’d have met in the group who were called Drama Club weirdos. I think I’d been a bit cautious around you though. You seem too cool and maybe aloof for me. I’d be afraid you’d see me for how uncool I was.
Thank you for writing this. I’ll be thinking on it. Reflecting. I’ll be giving thanks that we can grow up and be grateful for all it took to get wherever we are.
You’re right, I was aloof and probably a bit intimidating. I couldn’t trust people to like me and shielded myself from rejection. God, it’s hard to be young. Old has its downside but it sure beats young.
I would not go back to being young for anything.
Blown away by the creativity and honesty in this piece, Rona and so beautifully written, thought-provoking, and moving ( & I also played Helen Keller in high school -- which changed my life -- i knew I had to become a professional actor after that indelible experience).....What I would say to the teenage girl I was. Well, I'll have to get back to you on that. HA! So much to ponder.....
Well, as you see, I didn’t become a professional actor. That role showed me my limits, although I didn’t become perfectly fine for a high schooler. I’m so glad this essy left you thinking and remembering.
But you did become a professional writer and a beautiful one at that! So fascinating to imagine what our teenage selves would approve and/or disapprove of — in terms of our adult choices (personally and professionally)…brava yet again!
Beautiful. Utterly. Thank you. From your folksy east coast friend and forever fangirl of your writing.
.
Hi, Sheree! Always a delight to see you here.