The Truth
Page 1
I’M A GIRL, I’M SMART, AND I KNOW EVERYTHING!
Copyright © 2014 by Barbara Becker Holstein
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Manufactured in China, March 2014
This product conforms to CPSIA 2008
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.
Cover design by Victoria Bellavia
Interior design by Sara Kitchen
Interior illustrations by Julie Matysik
ISBN: 978-1-62873-611-3
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-62914-246-3
Printed in China
“All grownups were children first.
(But few of them remember it.)”
“Grownups never understand anything by themselves, and it is exhausting for children to provide explanations over and over again.”
—From The Little Prince
INTRODUCTION
When I was a girl, I knew so many things. I knew a lot of important stuff that my parents and other grown-ups had forgotten. I promised myself that I would find a way to hold on to my knowledge.
Then I grew up and became a teacher and a psychologist. I got married and had children. At work, as a psychologist, I listen to a lot of people’s problems—children and grown-ups. I always try to help them. One of the things I do is to point out to them what is right with them, rather than what is wrong. Another thing I do is to teach them how to have more fun. I also help them to remember their own wisdom and the truths that they already know in their hearts.
One day, I decided to find a way to combine what I already knew as a girl with the knowledge I now have as a psychologist. I had to find a fun way to do this that would really help girls and mothers recognize that what we know growing up is just as important as what we learn later in life.
One day, the “girl” just appeared. She knew what to say and how to say it. She did a much better job of sharing the truth than I ever could have imagined. So I just let her go for it.
Here is her account of the truth. I hope you enjoy it. Remember your promises to yourself when you grow up and don’t forget to listen to your kids someday.
I better get out of the way and let the girl begin. . . .
This is my secret diary. Not the one that says “My Special Diary.” I leave that around just to fool grown-ups. This is the real truth. This is where I will write everything I don’t want to forget, starting tomorrow!
Date: September 19
Dear Diary,
This is the very first page of my new secret diary. So before I begin, here’s all you need to know about me:
I am eleven years old.
I live at 100 Maple St.
My school is Riverside Middle School.
I live with my mom, dad, and annoying little brother who is six (only kidding, I really love him).
We have no pets. I hate that. I want a dog!
I am in sixth grade.
My best friend is Angela. We keep secrets.
My other really good friends are Betsy and Gloria.
My teacher is Miss Shannon. I’m not sure I like her.
My favorite books are mystery books. I’ve recently started reading Nancy Drew, which is an older series but really fun!
My favorite color is pink.
My favorite food is coffee ice cream.
We have a nice house. It has six rooms, a basement, and an attic.
My favorite thing to do on the weekends is read blogs about cooking, crafts, and what other girls my age like to do.
We have two TVs in our house. Our computer is broken, though, so if I want to go online, I have to go to Angela’s house, which is a huge pain!
I want something special to happen to me someday, like to win a million dollars.
Date: September 20
Dear Diary,
I am in love. I thought I would fall in love when I was much older, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Not today.
I was sitting in class, reading a chapter in my social studies textbook and trying to answer a stupid question at the end of the chapter. The question was: “Which state has the most coal mines?” Suddenly, the door opened and a new kid walked in.
There he was! I knew as soon as I saw him—he was someone special. He was wearing a cute plaid shirt and he had brown hair and brown eyes.
My heart felt like it turned over in my body. My pulse started to race. I couldn’t concentrate on my textbook or the stupid question anymore. I felt excited, like I suddenly had a big secret.
“Our eyes locked.”
I once read that in a book that my mom had by her bed. And that’s exactly what happened with the new boy—that feeling was true. When I looked into his brown eyes, I felt we had known each other forever. Looking at him made me feel all fluttery inside.
I wanted him to sit near me so badly I could have died. But he sat in the row in front of me, a little to the right. Not too bad. Now I can look at him all day. My best friend, Angela, sits beside him on his right. I hope she doesn’t fall in love with him, too. He’s mine!
His name is Paul.
Date: September 21
Dear Diary,
How will I ever be able to think about school and homework again with all these funny feelings in my belly and my heart beating so fast I can’t breathe every time I see or think about Paul? From the moment I saw him sitting at his desk when I entered the classroom, I couldn’t help but think about him. I could barely concentrate during the spelling test (I’m sure I misspelled almost every word) and I was so busy thinking about Paul holding my hand that I didn’t hear the teacher call my name during science. And I just sat and watched him and the other boys play basketball during recess, which Angela thought was strange. She said that I looked like I was in a daze. I didn’t want to tell her that I am in love. I feel like I need time to just have this special secret all to myself.
I can’t wait to go to school tomorrow. Now I know how girls fall in love. I thought it would be a certain way, given what I’ve read online. Now that it's happened to me, I'm sure how it feels, and I’m only eleven. And that’s the truth.
Date: September 28
Dear Diary,
It’s been a week now and Paul hasn’t even looked at me in school. Well, occasionally he glances in my direction, but nothing all that special. I wish he could see how much I like him and want him to notice me!
I wonder if boys also have the feelings about girls like I have about Paul? I wish my computer at home worked because then maybe I could Google that and see if there are other girls and boys my age who have blogs and who talk about this kind of stuff. I feel nervous to talk about it with my mom—or with anyone, really.
Ugh, I wish Dad would get our computer fixed already! I need some answers! I don’t want to Google my questions when I am over at Angela’s, though, because I haven’t told her yet that I’m in love.
Date: October 12
Dear Diary,
I have a secret.
I want to know about growing up.
I want to ask my mom questions, like when will I need a bra? But I feel like I can’t. Whenever I’ve tried to ask, Mom always looks away and starts to stare at her cell phone. Then she will suddenly “remember” that she has to cook supper or do the laundry and I never really get an answer to my questions. Why is that? Doesn’t she know how confused I am and how important this is for me to know? How am I supposed to be ready to get older if she can’t even tell me what to expect or when I should get a bra?
Sometimes I wish I was Mrs. Allen’s daughter. That’s Angela’s mom. Mrs. Allen tells Angela everything she needs to know (at least that’s what Angela says). And even if Angela has a question her mom doesn’t want to answer, Angela can just look it up on her own personal laptop. Angela is so lucky and that’s the truth.
I guess I’m a little lucky, though, because at least I get some of my questions answered secondhand from Angela.
Date: October 13
Dear Diary,
I’m worried. Paul hasn’t really said much to me lately but I feel like he’s the only boy I’ll ever love. All I can think about is our wedding and what kind of dress I’ll wear and that we’ll live happily ever after like people in the movies. Who will I marry if I don’t marry Paul?
How will I ever find another boy to love and how will I ever decide to get married? I don’t think I could stand to be alone as a grown-up, and I would die if I couldn’t have children. My dolls are my babies now, but someday I’ll want real kids.
I’ve always loved my dolls. I sleep with them still at night, though I don’t really admit that to anyone anymore. My favorite doll has holes in her nose and breathes when you press her stomach. I love them so much, but I know I’d love real kids more—someday. But I worry that maybe I’ll never have them. And when do you know you want to have kids anyway?
Date: October 14
Dear Diary,
I hate my mom sometimes. We were on the back porch this evening and I finally asked her how I will know that I need a bra? And guess what she did! She just stood up and walked back into the kitchen, saying, “You’re too young to be worried about that. I didn’t think about things like that at your age. You should be out playing or doing homework. You don’t need a bra yet.” And that was it. When I went inside, I found her on the phone with her friend.
I knew I shouldn’t have bothered. Maybe Angela can ask her mom for me? I feel so angry right now. I hope I can sleep tonight.
Why can’t my mom just talk to me and answer my simple questions?
Date: October 20
Dear Diary,
Yesterday my dad’s cousin, George, came to visit us from Las Vegas where he lives. He stayed for lunch and then we took him to the lake and then we all went out to dinner. My parents said it was their treat.
After we came home, we all sat in the living room for a long time. George talked and talked. That would have been okay, except he swore the whole time. He’d say a few words and then he would mix in a swear word. I can’t even write them here—you’ll just have to believe me. For example, he said, “And what the h—do you think of that, Edith?” My mom just answered as if he hadn’t sworn, which was strange because she usually hates swearing and the one time I accidently said a curse word, she grounded me for a whole evening! But she didn’t even seem to bat an eyelash when George swore. Then he would go on and swear again and no one would say anything!
Every time George swore, it gave me a bad feeling in my stomach, like I get when I hear people swearing on a YouTube video or in a movie. I finally got up the courage and asked him not to swear anymore, but he just laughed at me and kept talking.
But the truth is I know more than he does. Swearing makes the whole room feel heavy, as if little arrows are being shot off, hitting people and hurting them. Either he doesn’t know the truth or he doesn’t care. I finally excused myself and came up here to be alone. Sometimes that’s better when someone is making you feel uncomfortable. Sometimes I come upstairs when my parents are fighting and just hide in my room. I wish they got along better. I love when they hug each other. Then I feel safe and warm, too.
Date: October 21
Dear Diary,
When I got up this morning, George had already left. And I was glad. At breakfast, I told my mom and dad that I didn’t understand why George swore so much. But they didn’t seem that bothered and just told me, “That’s George.”
What happens to grown-ups that they don’t seem to care about things like this? Don’t they feel bad inside when they hear people saying those bad words?
Grown-ups say they know so much about life, but I’m pretty sure I know more than they do. I know swearing can make people feel bad and that we shouldn’t do it. And that’s the truth.
Date: October 22
Dear Diary,
Did you know that I’m not afraid to talk to others—not even to people I’ve never met before. One day, my mom and I were at a restaurant downtown and I had just ordered a delicious cheeseburger with French fries. Across the room, I saw a man wearing an important looking suit who I recognized. He was the boss where my dad works, so I just jumped out of my seat, left Mom, and went up to him. I knew my mom wasn’t going to go over to him. She’s shy most of the time.
I said, "Hi," told him who I was, and held out my hand for him to shake it.
He smiled such a giant smile and told me that he was happy I had come over to say hello. He offered to walk me back, and when we approached, he said to Mom, “My, what a bright, friendly child you have.”
I was so happy with myself. My heart was beating fast and I knew that when I was a grown-up, I would be outgoing all the time, friendly, and not afraid to meet new people.
Date: October 25
Dear Diary,
Today was the best day ever. Dad took us on one of our Mystery Rides. I love them. We get in the car after lunch, switch off the GPS, and then we each get turns directing him. I had the first turn, so I said, “Go straight for two miles.” And then Mom said, “Take a right, a left, a right, and a left, and then go straight for one mile.” Then my brother said, “Make a left and three rights.” I thought it was kind of cute when he said that. He still confuses his left with his right, so who knows if Dad actually turned the way he wanted him to. We kept taking turns and laughing our heads off as we drove by odd places. We passed the city dump, the hospital, and lots of funeral homes, and we ended up in a big park in the center of town.
Finally, Dad called time-out. Then he took over the game and told us to close our eyes and wait until he told us to open them. And when we did, we were near our house, at a tiny store that has the best ice cream cones. So we all got out, went inside, and ate ice cream. I got a coffee cone with sprinkles—my favorite. It was delicious!
The best times are the fun times, when no one is fighting and we all get turns and we all get treats. And that’s the truth!
Date: October 26
Dear Diary,
My brother is so dumb. This afternoon he started to cry without any reason. I asked him why he was crying and he told me that he thought that he was the only one who saw colors inside his eyes when he closed them. He said, “I thought I was special.”
But today he found out that Billy down the street sees lots of colors when he closes his eyes, too.
All I could think of was how dumb a six-year-old can be. How could he get so worked up over something so silly? Usually he’s upset about real things, like not being able to play video games after supper and stuff like that.
But I looked at him and saw how sad he was, so I decided not to be mean to him about it. I just gave him a hug, got him a Kleenex, and brought him a cupcake from the kitchen.
After all, I am his big sister and was once little and sad about silly things, too.
Date: November 1
Dear Diary,
Why does Betsy hate me? I used to think we were good friends. I guess I was wrong.
She is always so mean to me. I think she talks about me behind my ba
ck. In fact, I’m sure of it, and I know she is not saying nice things. I even read something on her Facebook page once that I’m pretty sure was about me, though she didn’t name any names. And once I saw her point at my skirt and laugh at the same time. Then the other girls who were standing with her started to laugh, too. I looked down at my skirt and thought, "Maybe I grew this year and my skirt is a tiny bit short? Or maybe it was a little faded from being washed a lot?" I felt awful after that.
And to top it off, today her big brother pushed me on the playground for no good reason. I fell backward and hit my head on the metal post of the swing set. I heard Betsy laughing as I got up, with tears falling down my cheeks. I had to stay in the nurse’s office with an ice bag on my head for the rest of the afternoon. And my head still hurts a little. They hate me. Well, I hate them, too!
My mom told me to ignore them. I’m trying to, but they make me feel like I have cooties, like something is wrong with me, every time I am near them.
I want to have lots of friends, but it’s hard when people are mean to you for no reason. I think I’m going to de-friend Betsy tonight if I go over to Angela’s house. I don’t need to see her mean comments anymore, and she clearly doesn’t think of me as a good friend to her.
The truth is people shouldn’t make fun of you. It really hurts.
Date: November 4
Dear Diary,
Since I’m eleven, my mom now lets me catch the bus two blocks from my house and go downtown—all by myself. And I’m not afraid. Mom told me to sit near the driver, and I do. I talk to him sometimes. Other times I read.
Today, on my way downtown, I read the saddest part of Little House on the Prairie—a book I’ve read a million times and still love! The Ingalls' dog turned around three times and then lay down in his bed and died. I started crying on the bus, which was a little embarrassing, especially since I knew it was going to happen. I was glad I had a tissue with me to blow my nose. At one point, the driver turned around and asked if I was okay, and I told him that I was—that the book had made me sad because the dog died. He smiled in a kind way.