July 15, 1965

Mom, Dad and June went to a barbecue at Aunt Tillie’s this morning. They wanted me to come with, of course, but I told them no way was I going to spend my Sunday at some boring barbecue with mom and her old sisters and dad reading his newspaper and poor June watching the grass grow like it’s the most exciting film going. No thank you. As I lay here listening to Bobby King, I know I made the right choice. This is freedom. Rock and Roll speaks to my soul. By the way, you should have seeeen the outfit June wore to the barbecue. It looked like she had never even heard of a barbecue before! Poor old June.

            Bobby King is so great. Just hearing his voice blasting in my room brings life to this bland house. I wish I could blast Bobby King sometime while my mom was nagging at me, just to drown out her voice. I think I might lay out and tan in a bit. I love my alone time. Is it bad that part of me really wishes mom, dad and June would just never come home? That they would all disappear. Go off in an endless spree of boring barbecues and leave me here alone forever…

July 12, 1965

Mom just doesn't get it! I hate her! Why is she always picking at me. Sometimes I wish she was dead. Even worse, she makes me wish I was dead. I just want our whole rotten lives to be over with. I know she’s just jealous of me because she’s stuck in this crappy new, cookie-cutter house with a husband she doesn't love and one daughter who is more boring than white bread and one who is ten times prettier than I ever was. I feel bad for her with her totally passion-less love life with tired, bald dad. Picking on me is all she has to do.

            Whatever. It’s not like I need her approval. I know I’m pretty. Betty is always saying how she wishes her hair was as perfectly puffy as mine. It’s not at all dry, but has a great crimp to it. Betty has great skin though. I tell her that. Also, would I get boys attention if I wasn't pretty? I don’t think so. 

July 11, 1965

Last night Betty and I ran across the highway to the drive-in restaurant. We saw that slime ball David outside and he wished we would get in his car and hang with him. As if! I met this boy Eddie and he took me out. We got burgers and cokes and sat and talked. He was so smart. He’s older. Cute. Very mature. He paid for or burgers and then we drove around for a while. We parked in an alley a little ways from the restaurant and made-out. He was sweet and gentle. Sometimes when I’m with a boy I wonder how pretty they think I am. I especially wonder how pretty I am compared to the other girls they have kissed. I know how pretty I am compared to the girls in my grade at school, but it’s hard for me to know how I stack up against older girls. I don’t think I’ll see Eddie again, but I will imagine kissing him in that backseat.

July 9, 1965

I was thinking about that boy Charlie today. He really was just so sweet. He smelled so nice. I told Betty all about him on the phone. I think June was trying to overhear us talking the whole time. It’s okay, she’s just bored with her own life. We kept getting interrupted by mom yelling at me for wrapping up the phone cord around my finger and for occasionally glancing at myself in my compact mirror. Gosh! Does no one else in this house have a life besides me?

            Betty said she thought we were starting to get reputations. Personally I don’t care. I like being with boys. Plus, it’s not like we can possibly have worse reputations than the older girls. And it’s the boys’ choice to hang with us over them. I think Betty worries too much. Her dad is taking us to the movie theater tonight. I hope Betty still wants to run over to the drive-in restaurant. 

July 5, 1965

I spent all day yesterday at the annual Independence Day barbeque. It was actually fairly fun. The youth pastor brought his transistor radio with the church set of speakers. They even played a few decent songs.

            Other than the music, there was tons of food. There were lots of hot dogs, vanilla shakes, cokes in sweaty wax cups; very all American. I normally wouldn’t get all into something like that, but it’s only once a year after all. I mostly just played with the kids. Last year I was afraid that if I played with them, people would still look at me as a child, but now that I’m 15, and, well, I look like this, I know no one would think that. I think people would be more likely to think June was one of the munchkins. She’d be better off if she was still a child, then there would be an excuse for her outfits or the fact that she still lives at home. At 11 o’clock the fireworks started. I had arranged to meet this boy, Charlie out by the lake to watch the show. It was nice. He wrapped me in his jacket, which smelled like boy and grass. It wasn’t that cold, but it was still nice. We kissed underneath the colorful explosions.

July 1, 1965

            June said the dumbest thing today. We were sitting at the dinner table—mom, dad, June and me—the whole happy family, and she said, “You’ll never believe what a crazy thing happened to me today!” I knew right away she was about to say something dreadfully boring, but poor mother really got her hopes up. “What was it, dear?” mommy dearest asked in her sweet voice she uses just for June. “Why, a ladybug came and landed right square on my mirror while I was fixing up my hair in hot rollers for my trip to the grocery store!” Mom and June cackled with laughter. Kill. Me. Now.

            At least I get to go to the “movies” tonight with Betty. Her dad is slightly better than mine. I think mine actually glanced up from his sports pages at June’s epic tale of the ladybug. Betty’s dad is nice and quiet. I can tell he’s intimidated by me. Lots of men are. That’s the trouble with being young and pretty—something June and my mom don’t have to worry about. Betty even gets along with her dad. I might get along with my dad too if he ever bothered to talk to me. Oh well, knowing mom, his disinterest might not be such a bad thing.