Dear Diary,

Yesterday my son, my baby, my one and only child went off to Junior High.

That actually sounds more romantic than it was, Diary. It was more like, my son, my baby, my blah blah, myself and the dog lugged five bags of school supplies and one small bag of poop four blocks to school. Saying goodbye to him was anti climatic as I was trying to corral the dog to not follow Ben any further.

“Eddie, we have to go.  We can’t embarrass him…”
“Mom! Stop talking to do the dog. GAWD!”

Oh Diary, how is my boy 11? How is he in sixth grade? How did this happen? Where did his chubby diaper and pacifier go?

You see Diary, my problem is this… I don’t remember being a baby. I don’t remember my first daycare. I have maybe 4 memories of preschool (getting my Preschool of the Arts Tony award for the starring role as Sleeping Beauty…).

I have memories of elementary school, however faded they may be; but Diary, I remember middle school vividly!

I remember having terrible hair and such bad acne that Chris Simmons called me “Pizza Face”. (When I told him this 20 years later he apologized profusely and says he doesn’t remember. I believe him, Diary. He looked sincere.)

I remember being a Mean Girl. Despite the acne and frizz I could boss the best of them around.

Until 7th grade when I only had two friends left. When Kristin called me one night and said, “Wasn’t Gwyneth being a bitch today?” “Oh totally. For sure. Major bitch.” And then I heard Gwyneth pick up another phone at Kristin’s house and yell, “Becky! You just failed the friend test!”

I remember then having no friends in 7th grade.

I remember Chad Valenza telling me and Molly Wallace he was going to ask one of us to “go with him” that night. We had to wait by the phone. My phone never rang. Molly’s did.

I remember having such a crush on Greg Esser when I sat behind him in Spanish I thought he could hear my heart betting and when he picked up my dropped pencil I SWEAR we had a connection. We didn’t.

I remember being so jealous of Amy Biddle. She was the prettiest girl in our grade. Greg Esser was her boyfriend.

I remember writing with Sharpie, “Dead Kennedy’s” “Clash” “The Circle Jerks” on my Converse high tops. I had no clue who these bands were but I knew it was way cooler than writing “J Geils Band” or “Huey Lewis and the News”.

I remember playing flute in the band.  As I took private lessons I was actually good.  Although it wasn’t cool to be good at an instrument so I fought it every step of the way.

I remember making excuses why I couldn’t go on the ski trips because I had not a clue how to ski and wasn’t confidant enough to try to learn.

I remember loving Home Ec but telling all my friends it was “totally stupid…”

See Diary? I remember it all. And now my son is going into that ring of social awkwardness. The gauntlet of heartbreak and insecurity. And I just let him, Diary. I didn’t hold him back and say, “Forget it. I’ll home school you.”

Because maybe Diary, maybe he’ll be the Greg Esser who gets the Amy Biddle. And maybe there will be no Chris, or Gwyneth and he’ll just have his own experience. One that he needs to have.  No matter how painful or wonderful it may be and it will have nothing to do with my own three years in middle school.

So I’ll be here. Waiting for him every day after school. With my dog and my poop bag. Trying beyond hope not to embarrass him.

Thanks for listening Diary.

Love,
Me