A Journal Entry From My 12-Year-Old Self

I can't remember which post it was exactly, but one written by Mama Kat over at "Mama's Losin' It" inspired this post. The following is a journal entry from my 12th year. These writings are at the same time inspiring, nostaligic, and just a little bit weird. See for yourself...




The first thing at which I marveled when I reread this entry was that I have turned into my mother. She had a large family herself, well, actually, only half the number of children I have, but it seemed large at the time, for me, as the oldest. She, too, enlisted our help for Sunday dinners and for all other occasions for that matter. I know I resented it, I remember resenting it, but I didn't express it in writing here. Perhaps I didn't resent it as much as I remember. Perhaps my kids don't resent me for asking them to help as much as I think they do. Perhaps....perhaps....

The second thing that struck me was that I made it a point to mention how nice we set the table. I still love a well-set table and almost always set our table with cloth napkins, glass plates, and lit tapers. Perhaps this means that as my daughters see me try to make dinner a special, pleasant experience each evening, they will choose to do the same in their adult years. Perhaps...

Nostalgia struck as I remembered my relationship with my paternal grandfather, born in Coahuila, Mexico. He died in 1993, and he is probably the person who has passed on I miss the most besides my father. I often find myself wishing he were here to share in my accomplishments of gardening, child-bearing, frugality and recycling, a few of his passions. For living in a time when recycling wasn't cool, Grandpa Tito was a keen recycler, storing old tin cans of bacon grease throughout his kitchen, saving pecan shells from the pecan trees grown in our yard, and always tossing veggie scraps into his make-shift compost bin.

But Grandpa Tito could splurge, and always did when we got good grades, sometimes even taking us out of school, without my mother's permission, for his famous shrimp lunches. Yeah, you can bet she loved it when her father-in-law did that.

Lastly, this journal entry was just plain weird because when I was 12, I liked to get into a chicken coop and catch roosters. While the 9-year-old boy currently finds pleasure in this, I certainly cannot imagine my 13- or 14-year-old children behaving in such a manner. Throwing a football or writing a song perhaps, but not chasing a rooster. Perhaps this means....okay, I really have no idea what this means. I think I was just weird. Still am....

Thanks for listening. And now, for your holiday enjoyment...