I was twelve when I drew this in my diary. I kinda hate that the vagina was the nastiest thing I could think to draw to represent a girl I both loved and hated. Though, to be fair, other pages are drawings of fat penises. Because that’s what twelve year old girls do. We keep it simple, then make every simple thing our undoing. Oh, the drama.
We made conference calls but just had one girl listen in, then we provoked the other girl, trying to get her to say something mean about the girl listening in. Then we’d catch her. Double teaming. Moose is written from this place in my life. And I’m so thankful I’ve saved these diaries, reminders for when my own kids are going through puberty.Everything really is a big deal, and homework, phone calls, and friends become your whole life. I think it would have been helpful if my parents forced me out of me. If at that age they had us all volunteer as a family, working together at a homeless shelter, as I did once I was in high school, I think I might have been able to get some perspective. It’s something I’ll keep in mind when my kids slam their doors and refuse to go to school.