It's easy to forget what you were actually like as a kid. The person I am now as an early-30-something is a dramatically far cry from who I was even in my late 20s. I generally have great memories of high school and of the good ol' nursery school days, however my nostalgia often skips over the ages of 8 and 14 when I was most awkward, uncomfortable and freakishly boy-crazy and painfully shy.
As with most things you try ever so hard to forget (like the half round of brie I ate last night after dinner), it would appear that nothing truly disappears from the record books. Especially when your 11-year-old-self kept a record.
Yes folks, in her quest to rid all evidence of my sister and I ever having inhabited her home, this last weekend, my mother handed each of us a bag of 1988-1992 splendour! In these surprisingly light bags were not only drawings, artwork and old birthday/communion/holiday cards, but a couple of journals documenting what can only be described as my Joey McIntyre years, when I wrote words like Yo! and Flower Power in bubble letters. Of course, my mom read them ("only a little") and so did I. And I am still giggling.
I was in LOVE. With a boy. Who shall remain forever nameless to protect his reputation. He looked at me one day and that was enough for me to start planning our wedding. This was just around the age where I started to look a little less like the chubby DJ Tanner from early Full House episodes and more like the teenaged DJ Tanner, but with brown hair and a Raiders jacket (true story).
Back to the love. I wrote pages and pages about this love in a pink school workbook and covered my writing with pink lipstick kisses to seal the words that read: "Today, BOY came into my class and looked at me, I thought I would die" or "I am SOOOOOOO in LOVE!" or "We danced so close I could hear his heartbeat." I even documented a full conversation I wasn't even privvy to in script format:
Friend: Hey, can I get your school picture?
Friend: A friend wants it
Boy: Who, Carly?
Friend: No, I can't tell you
Boy: Then I won't give it to you
Friend: Ok it's for Carly
Boy: (smiles) Ok, I'll bring it tomorrow
You get it, I was CRAZY about this boy. But he moved away and I was too shy and dorky to talk to him pretty much ever except for a five minute recess chat where I was so nervous I nearly hurled or when our teachers, who were also aware of my crush, made us dance together on a school trip, and I was so nervous I nearly hurled.
Here I am 20 years later and incredibly, through the mighty powers of Facebook, I can look up my old crush to see how he turned out. I'm pretty sure them legal folk call this type of activity stalking but in my case, I'm calling research... for my blog... that no one reads. Truth is, I would have never recognized him if we met again in person. And, while my 11/12-year-old self would be mortified at the thought of someone reading her private thoughts, I'm really glad I kept notes.
I also kept the picture...