Calvary, but only by a little.
It wasn’t until the game was over that theHatch boys left. They’d hung tight to the fence, fingers laced to its chains, watching me play.
Sunday, August 1, 1954
Diary Book,
Calvary’s minister, our guest speaker, delivered today’s sermon. “The Lord doesn’t take sides,” he said. “But he does know good baseball when he sees it. Yesterday, the players from Shepherd’s Way gave the Lord a front-row seat to some lively ball playing.”
Wednesday, August 4, 1954
Diary Book,
Today was hotter than the hinges on the devil’s front door. Daddy and Mama took me on a practice walk to Prettyman Coburn so that we could see how long it would take to get there from home, and to make sure I’m clear about the directions on foot. Mama and Daddy don’t know anything about the shortcuts Yolanda and I have found, so we walked the main streets, the longest way to get there.
Two miles is no fun in the heat. I’d started out on my pogo stick, but took to hoisting it across my shoulders after just a short time. Goober notedthe streets and avenues, calling out their names as we walked.
Mama and Daddy peppered me with rules about what to do and not do when I attend my new school.
Mama’s rules were about being polite and not making trouble. Daddy was strict about safety.
All the rules started the same way:
“Always remember …” and
“Don’t forget …” and
“Make sure you …”
“Always remember—you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”
“Don’t forget to smile.”
“Make sure you greet your new teacher courteously.”
Daddy gave a warning.
“Rule number one,” he said, “keep your hands to yourself.”
Even Goober had rules — polite ones and safety ones:
“Give nice people a peanut,” he said. And, “Give mean people three peanuts.”
Monday, August 9, 1954
Diary Book,
Goober’s not allowed to come out of our fence without first asking me or Mama or Daddy. Today he wanted a pogo lesson, but we had to stay in our small front yard to do it, which is not enough room for jumping, and not enough concrete for pumping good on the pogo stick.
I tried showing Goober how to pogo on grass, but my pogo kept sticking in the dirt. This made Goober cry, then wail. “I want to fly like you, Dawnie!”
He kept saying it over and over, louder and louder. Screeching like he does when he’s upset. Then he slammed the pogo stick hard on the grass, and cried more. I sat him down on our back steps until he calmed down.
“Let’s play airplane,” I said softly.
Goober spread his arms wide. He ran in zigzags around our yard.
“Watch out for the other planes, Dawnie, okay?”
“Okay, Goober.”
“Do you see the other planes flying, Dawnie? Do you see them flying?”
“Yes, Goober, I see them.”
Monday, August 16, 1954
Diary Book,
Daddy brought home a new magazine today. It’s called
Sports Illustrated.
A whole magazine about sports! Its pages were shiny, and felt so good touching up against the skin on my fingers as I turned them. And the pictures — I couldn’t stop staring.
Wednesday, August 18, 1954
Diary Book,
Without asking me, Goober played with my pogo stick. I don’t like him touching my things, but the worst part is that he left the pogo stick out in the rain. The stick is already rusty enough!
I’m mad as a hornet right now, and ready to attack Goober!!! That boy!! Somebody needs to leave
him
out in the rain so that
he
can rust. At least then, he’d be too stuck to mess with my stuff.
I wish I could send Goober back to the planet where boys like him come from!
Right now, if it were up to me, I’d put him on a rocket ship, set the destination dial to “Way Far Away,” and send Goober flying off for forever. I HATE when he does stuff like this. HATE IT!! If Mama and Daddy ever heard me say whatthey call “the
H
word” — H-A-T-E — I’d be the one sent off on a rocket, and made to live on Jupiter.
Mama says that in God’s eyes
It wasn’t until the game was over that theHatch boys left. They’d hung tight to the fence, fingers laced to its chains, watching me play.
Sunday, August 1, 1954
Diary Book,
Calvary’s minister, our guest speaker, delivered today’s sermon. “The Lord doesn’t take sides,” he said. “But he does know good baseball when he sees it. Yesterday, the players from Shepherd’s Way gave the Lord a front-row seat to some lively ball playing.”
Wednesday, August 4, 1954
Diary Book,
Today was hotter than the hinges on the devil’s front door. Daddy and Mama took me on a practice walk to Prettyman Coburn so that we could see how long it would take to get there from home, and to make sure I’m clear about the directions on foot. Mama and Daddy don’t know anything about the shortcuts Yolanda and I have found, so we walked the main streets, the longest way to get there.
Two miles is no fun in the heat. I’d started out on my pogo stick, but took to hoisting it across my shoulders after just a short time. Goober notedthe streets and avenues, calling out their names as we walked.
Mama and Daddy peppered me with rules about what to do and not do when I attend my new school.
Mama’s rules were about being polite and not making trouble. Daddy was strict about safety.
All the rules started the same way:
“Always remember …” and
“Don’t forget …” and
“Make sure you …”
“Always remember—you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”
“Don’t forget to smile.”
“Make sure you greet your new teacher courteously.”
Daddy gave a warning.
“Rule number one,” he said, “keep your hands to yourself.”
Even Goober had rules — polite ones and safety ones:
“Give nice people a peanut,” he said. And, “Give mean people three peanuts.”
Monday, August 9, 1954
Diary Book,
Goober’s not allowed to come out of our fence without first asking me or Mama or Daddy. Today he wanted a pogo lesson, but we had to stay in our small front yard to do it, which is not enough room for jumping, and not enough concrete for pumping good on the pogo stick.
I tried showing Goober how to pogo on grass, but my pogo kept sticking in the dirt. This made Goober cry, then wail. “I want to fly like you, Dawnie!”
He kept saying it over and over, louder and louder. Screeching like he does when he’s upset. Then he slammed the pogo stick hard on the grass, and cried more. I sat him down on our back steps until he calmed down.
“Let’s play airplane,” I said softly.
Goober spread his arms wide. He ran in zigzags around our yard.
“Watch out for the other planes, Dawnie, okay?”
“Okay, Goober.”
“Do you see the other planes flying, Dawnie? Do you see them flying?”
“Yes, Goober, I see them.”
Monday, August 16, 1954
Diary Book,
Daddy brought home a new magazine today. It’s called
Sports Illustrated.
A whole magazine about sports! Its pages were shiny, and felt so good touching up against the skin on my fingers as I turned them. And the pictures — I couldn’t stop staring.
Wednesday, August 18, 1954
Diary Book,
Without asking me, Goober played with my pogo stick. I don’t like him touching my things, but the worst part is that he left the pogo stick out in the rain. The stick is already rusty enough!
I’m mad as a hornet right now, and ready to attack Goober!!! That boy!! Somebody needs to leave
him
out in the rain so that
he
can rust. At least then, he’d be too stuck to mess with my stuff.
I wish I could send Goober back to the planet where boys like him come from!
Right now, if it were up to me, I’d put him on a rocket ship, set the destination dial to “Way Far Away,” and send Goober flying off for forever. I HATE when he does stuff like this. HATE IT!! If Mama and Daddy ever heard me say whatthey call “the
H
word” — H-A-T-E — I’d be the one sent off on a rocket, and made to live on Jupiter.
Mama says that in God’s eyes
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