Swing Out, Sister!
Dancing is fun when it’s with your crush.
iN 1959, MOST OF THE GIRLS in my fourth grade class had diaries— writing down your secret special thoughts seemed wonderful to me. My brother, Gary, was adept at teasing me, and my sister, Gwen, and I shared a bedroom. It was hard to keep anything away from her. Nail polish often disappeared from on top of my dresser and magically appeared on top of hers.
I wrote sporadically in my diary over a span of five years (1960-’64). I know of only one time when my sister found the key and read my diary. Our mom had to act as referee to get me on speaking terms with Gwen again.
Dec. 25, 1959: “I got a watch from Grandpa and Grandma Heffner—a beautiful Hamilton wristwatch. Grandma made me learn to tell time perfectly before she would get me a watch. I also got this lovely pink Ponytail Diary from Gary and a jewelry kit from
Gwen. I was so excited to get the diary!”
March 17, 1962: “I went to my first dance. It was a St. Patrick’s Day dance at Carroll Elementary in Lithopolis. The first dance, the boy I danced with was a total stranger! I went to the dance with Bonnie, who goes to that school. During the evening, Chuck (Charley) asked me for two square dances. I was so startled and shy that I said no both times. Oh, boy, that was crazy.”
NOTE: This is the entry that Gwen read. She wrote me a note on the bottom of the page: “If I were you, I would have said yes. (He likes you.)” Charley went on to serve in Vietnam and earn several medals, including a Purple Heart in 1968. In 2014, he was inducted into the Ohio Military Hall of Fame.
Dec. 3, 1962: “In gym class today I got to dance with Harry. Finally! When it came to swing your partner, he did it so tenderly. And the way he smiled at me—ooh la la!
Carol Fisher said when he slapped hands with her, he did it really hard. But when he slapped hands with me, he did it real gentle. I really like him!”
WHEN I WAS 10, The Diary of Anne Frank had such a profound effect on me that I decided to keep a diary myself.
My teen entries were filled with co-ed dances, secret crushes and wishing I was in the in-crowd. One entry from when I was 16 stands out: I was working part time at W.T. Grant’s department store during the Christmas holidays. A cute guy and two of his friends came in, and the cute one kept wandering back to where I was working to talk with me. Before he left, he asked for my phone number. After he was gone, I told my best friend, who also worked there, that I had just met the boy I was going to marry. Four years and one month later, Bob and I did get married; in January, we celebrated our 50th anniversary.
To the best of my knowledge my mom never read my diary. But a few years ago, I asked my brothers if they ever peeked at it. They laughed and said they had tried a few times, but my writing was so bad they couldn’t read it.
I had two younger brothers and hid my diary in my sock drawer. They never read it, as far as I know. I still possess that teen diary, and no, you cannot bribe me to read it aloud. It is private property!
Beverly Wonderly, Westminster, MD
OR MY EIGHTH BIRTHDAY, my parents gave me a fiveyear diary. Little did I know how much it would mean to me. My very first entry was short and simple:
Feb. 25, 1969: “To Day is my Birthday. I got A five year diary + A pen + taperecorder. We had Cake + ice cream.”
At the time, I wasn’t committed to writing every day, so it turned into a sixyear diary.
I treasure it, especially reading what I got for my next four birthdays and Christmases, including the BB gun Santa brought me in 1971. I was also obsessed with detailing what Mom fixed for dinner each night, such as green beans, ham and cornbread.
As an intern at a local newspaper in my junior year of college, I had to maintain a daily log of the stories I wrote, photos I took, places I visited, people I met, sources I quoted and so forth.
After graduating, I was so mesmerized reading my twoyear chronicle that I decided to continue the habit.
I’ve kept a daily record now for 38 years. Over time, my journals became larger and thicker, packed with ticket stubs and other small mementos.
I’ve recorded the births of my children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews; the passing of loved ones; vacations and foreign travel; places I’ve lived; cars I’ve owned.
Family members often ask me to verify details or events. “When was the last time we had sunny weather on the Fourth of July?” “What year did we go to San Diego?”
I’ve learned that you make notations in pen, not pencil, if you want them to last. With every new journal I start, I write the motto, “It’s hard to be nostalgic when you can’t remember anything.”
I intend to keep this up, draining ink by the gallon, until I can no longer write.