there is no hate. But what about MY eyes? What about MY eyes that have to look at my rusted pogo stick and be hornet-mad every time I see the brown, crusted metal on the pogo’s spring?
What about MY eyes that have to see what happens when Goober acts up?
So yeah,
HATE
is a bad word. But when your brother leaves your favorite-est thing in the world out in the rain, you HATE him for it.
That’s why a diary book is good. I can write the
H
word as much as I want. I can feel H-A-T-E, but not ever say it.
I HATE having a little brother like Goober!!
I HATE putting up with his baby-brother dumbness.
I HATE being the one who has to stick up for Goober so much.
And I HATE that God made Goober the way he is.
HATE! HATE! HATE!
And, here are some more
H
words—HA! HA! HA!
Mama and Daddy can’t stop me from writing H-A-T-E!!
Saturday, August 21, 1954
Diary Book,
Instead of calling my pogo a pogo
stick,
I should call it a pogo
stuck.
More rust has set in. The spring is crusted and slow to give. Darn that Goober!
Sunday, August 22, 1954
Diary Book,
I think Reverend Collier is getting lazy. His sermons used to be about things like finding joy in the Lord’s surprises. Now all Reverend Collier talks about is integration and fairness in education.
Can’t he think of some new ideas?
Thursday, August 26, 1954
Diary Book,
Mama says grease heals. Today she slathered my pogo’s spring with bacon grease left over from frying, and it worked. That bacon grease made the spring like new. So, I’m back to jumping on my pogo stick. It now smells like pork strips, but at least I can say, “Bye-bye, pogo
stuck.
”
Monday, August 30, 1954
Diary Book,
Other than Daddy’s truck, our radio is the most expensive thing we own. The voices coming out of that brown box give us all kinds of news. Mama and Daddy listen close most every night. My parents are very strict about what we tune into with our radio. We’re only allowed to play Christian music. Comedy shows, or anything Daddy says is a time-waster, are not allowed.
Thank goodness Daddy listens to baseball games. Other than that, “The radio is for news,” Daddy says.
Who wants to hear some man talking about boring newsy stuff? I’d rather listen to quiz shows like
Break the Bank.
But Daddy’s not having it. So, unless there’s a baseball game on, I only half listen.
But tonight, I listened all the way when Daddy turned up the volume. The radio commentator said, “Virginia governor Thomas B. Stanley has appointed a thirty-two-member all-white Commission on Public Education to examine the effects of the recent
Brown v. Board of Education
school integration ruling. The governor has charged this commission with studying how the
Brown
decision impacts schools in thestate of Virginia. The findings of this study will help the governor plan a course of action. The commission is chaired by Senator Garland Gray of Sussex County. It has been named the Gray Commission.”
I didn’t fully understand all the talk about commissions and findings. But I did know that Daddy and Mama were pressed to our radio.
Friday, September 3, 1954
Diary Book,
Why does summer seem to disappear the minute we turn the page on our kitchen calendar from August to September? Just yesterday I was fanning the sheen from my face with a dish towel, and wetting the towel with cold water to press on my forehead.
This morning I was fishing in my dresser drawers for something with sleeves until morning’s chill gave way to warmth. I miss summer already. Even bee stings and sweat-weather.
Saturday, September 4, 1954
Diary Book,
School starts in four days. Alls I can think about is me at Prettyman Coburn.
Me on that pretty baseball field.
Me inside a school with working clocks and toilets that flush.
Me in a
homeroom.
Me with white kids.
Only
me.
With white kids.
Only, only.
Me.
(The Panic Monster has been whispering to me lately. His growl has been low, but there’s no
What about MY eyes that have to see what happens when Goober acts up?
So yeah,
HATE
is a bad word. But when your brother leaves your favorite-est thing in the world out in the rain, you HATE him for it.
That’s why a diary book is good. I can write the
H
word as much as I want. I can feel H-A-T-E, but not ever say it.
I HATE having a little brother like Goober!!
I HATE putting up with his baby-brother dumbness.
I HATE being the one who has to stick up for Goober so much.
And I HATE that God made Goober the way he is.
HATE! HATE! HATE!
And, here are some more
H
words—HA! HA! HA!
Mama and Daddy can’t stop me from writing H-A-T-E!!
Saturday, August 21, 1954
Diary Book,
Instead of calling my pogo a pogo
stick,
I should call it a pogo
stuck.
More rust has set in. The spring is crusted and slow to give. Darn that Goober!
Sunday, August 22, 1954
Diary Book,
I think Reverend Collier is getting lazy. His sermons used to be about things like finding joy in the Lord’s surprises. Now all Reverend Collier talks about is integration and fairness in education.
Can’t he think of some new ideas?
Thursday, August 26, 1954
Diary Book,
Mama says grease heals. Today she slathered my pogo’s spring with bacon grease left over from frying, and it worked. That bacon grease made the spring like new. So, I’m back to jumping on my pogo stick. It now smells like pork strips, but at least I can say, “Bye-bye, pogo
stuck.
”
Monday, August 30, 1954
Diary Book,
Other than Daddy’s truck, our radio is the most expensive thing we own. The voices coming out of that brown box give us all kinds of news. Mama and Daddy listen close most every night. My parents are very strict about what we tune into with our radio. We’re only allowed to play Christian music. Comedy shows, or anything Daddy says is a time-waster, are not allowed.
Thank goodness Daddy listens to baseball games. Other than that, “The radio is for news,” Daddy says.
Who wants to hear some man talking about boring newsy stuff? I’d rather listen to quiz shows like
Break the Bank.
But Daddy’s not having it. So, unless there’s a baseball game on, I only half listen.
But tonight, I listened all the way when Daddy turned up the volume. The radio commentator said, “Virginia governor Thomas B. Stanley has appointed a thirty-two-member all-white Commission on Public Education to examine the effects of the recent
Brown v. Board of Education
school integration ruling. The governor has charged this commission with studying how the
Brown
decision impacts schools in thestate of Virginia. The findings of this study will help the governor plan a course of action. The commission is chaired by Senator Garland Gray of Sussex County. It has been named the Gray Commission.”
I didn’t fully understand all the talk about commissions and findings. But I did know that Daddy and Mama were pressed to our radio.
Friday, September 3, 1954
Diary Book,
Why does summer seem to disappear the minute we turn the page on our kitchen calendar from August to September? Just yesterday I was fanning the sheen from my face with a dish towel, and wetting the towel with cold water to press on my forehead.
This morning I was fishing in my dresser drawers for something with sleeves until morning’s chill gave way to warmth. I miss summer already. Even bee stings and sweat-weather.
Saturday, September 4, 1954
Diary Book,
School starts in four days. Alls I can think about is me at Prettyman Coburn.
Me on that pretty baseball field.
Me inside a school with working clocks and toilets that flush.
Me in a
homeroom.
Me with white kids.
Only
me.
With white kids.
Only, only.
Me.
(The Panic Monster has been whispering to me lately. His growl has been low, but there’s no
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