September 9, 1996 Monday
Sidney posed a question to me today in Homeroom that’s valid: “Why are you writing a journal?”
It’s actually something I have wanted to discuss, get down on paper. So let’s see where my thoughts take me… Why am I writing this journal at all? People certainly aren’t clamoring to know all about me. My memoirs sold on a shelf would never be a best seller. Am I writing this for everyone to read, or for myself? I don’t know anyone even remotely interested in reading about me, just another kid in an Illinois high school. As far as the second option, I know myself as well as anyone could.
And yet. These are the years everything is happening, or so I’m told. These are my teen years. What better times to remember (that should probably be re-phrased)? So far I’ve covered school, my first job, getting my driver’s license, my first date, a trip to Mexico, and playing baseball for Brimfield.
This book, as best as I understand its purpose so far, is for me because it’s about me. It is me; or at least a fair representation. Several times I’ve been pretty mad. The License Thing and The War of the Rose come to mind. When faced with something like this I am committed to staying with the facts and how I honestly feel. It would do no good to exaggerate a point or hide my feelings, for that would go against every reason for this journal: An accurate and honest account of past, present and future events.
Simply put, if it’s in this journal it’s true (as far as I understand it, of course). It would be cheating myself if it was anything less.