From Humble Beginnings

 

February 10, 1997  Monday

On November 25, 1994 I had the idea of jotting down a few things about me.  For posterity, of course.  I liked the way the entry turned out, and had the further idea to make it a regular occurrence.  Slowly I filled a notebook with the early–or perhaps “classic”–entries.  I began to realize how important this was to me, and only wished I had started it sooner.  The first volume, scrawled in a notebook, took six months to fill.  In those original pages I wrote of my first perceptions, of weightlifting, the bomb threat, The War of the Rose, baseball, and dozens of other memorable quips.  At this point I knew I had something going.  After writing half another notebook I copied all of my past writing to my Macintosh LC II.

I still can’t believe I lost this journal for more than a year.  An even greater crime is that I didn’t write from summer 1995 to summer 1996, regardless of what I had had in the past.  Then, in the middle of last summer, I found it and I have been writing feverishly ever since.  Now I can look back, and for good and bad, have a record of past events.

I really had no idea that this one simple idea would grow into all this.  Mr. Beres says all writing is done for a reason.  All writing is done to convey a message.  At one time I really didn’t know what my message was.  In the beginning I wrote simply to tell about myself.  Then I realized, “Who would want to want to read 130-odd pages (no matter how good) all about me?  That doesn’t even appeal to me.  I hope that by people reading this (if they even do), they come to understand me better.  Even more, I hope everyone got from these manuscripts what I meant, and not what they merely thought I might have meant.  It’s a pleasure working with you all.

I await in sorrow and anticipation of the new school year. College. My old life, and everything I know, will be gone. My class will be shattered and scattered throughout the country (this is the sad part, if you hadn’t guessed).  Hoke at the University of Nebraska, Willa at Monmouth College, Sidney at the University of Illinois, Emma at heaven-only-knows-where, and myself at Western.  The realization hasn’t fully set in, I know, and it will be a sad day when it finally does.  It’s like getting to stay asleep when we know we’re about to wake up, and we call, “Five more minutes, Mom!”

(This isn’t all sad.)   Next August I will begin a new life; a new adventure with me as the sole returning character in this story.  I wonder who I will meet, and what it will all be like.  I will look at college like that, and not needlessly worry about something I’ll probably love.  Of course it’s pretty easy to say all of this in the middle of February.

As long as I have this journal they will always be with me, and I can revisit these important years of my life.  They will always be with me, and that will perhaps soften the blow of finally saying goodbye.  Well, nothing will be able to fully prepare me for that day, and I know without a doubt that will be the hardest thing I will ever have done.

 

It’s not over quite yet,

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