April 24, 1990

Date: 4-24-90
Week: 4
Weather: Spring

Dear Diary

Today was good exept for p.e. Im in thered grad and I had a out on kickball
I never had one Before and I will never have one agiane
I am 9 yars old now so I am growing up
go night

Wow. Didn’t realize how much I was into kickball and not having any outs. DRAMA. I vaguely remember this day. I was having quite a run during recess on the kickball field at my elementary school. I was often first pick for teams, I always played pitcher, and I recall thinking I was better than a lot of the boys that played with us. . . except for one . . . Michael.

Michael thought he was awesome at everything, and taunted everyone during our games. He often pitched for whatever team my team was playing against and he would tease anyone else who tried to pitch by saying they sucked, or by just taking over completely because he thought they weren’t doing a good enough job. On this day, he was pitching. It was my turn up to kick. Just to tick me off, Michael motioned to all of the outfield to move in. When the ball came to me, I kicked as hard as I could. The ball went straight up into the air, and right into the arms of Mean Michael. I was out.

Honestly, I remember being stunned; like I didn’t understand what was happening. Michael caught the ball like nothing phased him, straightened up, and stood there glaring at me with a smirk on his face, bouncing the rubber ball and waiting for me to get back to my team. I was mortified.

I don’t know what I meant by “so I’m growing up.” It seems like I was telling myself something to the extent of “I can make my own destiny” by making this vow not to have anymore outs again. Or, maybe I was just tired . . . I mean, I did write “go night” instead of “good.”