Mercurial
My First Diary Discovery
This is the second part of my continuing series about my mom’s diary.
In 1987, as I drove to my old homestead, shortly after Dad died, all kinds of thoughts were running through my mind. I was meeting with Carole, my stepmother, to bring home Mom’s diary. I couldn't believe there was a diary. That day, I would have a window into my mother's teenage years. Aunt Lucy gave her the diary on Christmas Day 1931, midway through her junior year at Memorial High School in Evansville, Indiana.
Mom gave me a diary in 1962, when I was in sixth grade. Unlike her three-year diary, mine covered just one year, but I used it, along with other notebooks, through high school and beyond. Holding her diary, I realized we shared a common interest: writing. It didn't take long to see how much more we shared.
I brought the diary back home, curled up in my recliner with a Diet Coke, and devoured it in one session. As I read about her shifting emotions, a word came to mind: mercurial.
Mercurial (adj.) – changing often; characterized by rapid and unpredictable mood changes; fickle. — Merriam-Webster Dictionary
February 5, 1932 – "I went to the Memorial dance. It was fun. I danced with Clarence Wetzel at last. I asked him, but it still was a good time."
February 9, 1932 – "Clarence started over towards me in class, but then didn't. I think he's a honey."
February 10, 1932 – Clarence didn't come over today. Gee, I'm crazy about him. He has a way with women. I do wish he'd come over and sit with me at noon. But Francis is a honey, too. But Clarence is a novelty.
February 11, 1932 – Clarence doesn't seem to know I'm crazy about him. If Clarence doesn't come soon, I'll not care anymore.
February 12, 1932 – Clarence wanted to ride with me this evening, but I wouldn't let him.
February 13, 1932 – I got a box of candy from Francis this evening—Whitman's. On the card, he wrote, “I send this heart just to let you know that my constant thoughts are with you wherever you may go. Love, Francis.”
February 14, 1932 – Francis stayed until 11:15 this evening.
February 19, 1932 – Saw Francis tonight at church. He sure is a dear. My Clarence desire is (almost) gone.
But it wasn’t just Clarence and Francis. Many entries included other boys – Joe, Manford, and “My Henry.” She was crazy about Clarence one day, Henry the next, and Francis or someone else the day after that.
Since that first reading, I’ve always wondered who “My Henry” was. He still remains a mystery. There’s a page where his picture used to be.
August 22, 1932 – He said my dad didn’t like him, so there wasn’t any use in us going together. And that was that. I just want to know what it’s all about. I’m pretty sure I’m daffy about him, but am I?
I wasn't familiar with the word mercurial until my first year in college. One evening, my boyfriend commented, "You sure are mercurial."
I don't remember much else about him—or our relationship. We met in the summer. By fall, he was off to Vanderbilt, which put a lot of distance between us. I don't think his mom liked me, but my mom thought he was a catch. She saw him successful in his life (he later became a lawyer) and would provide for her youngest. To me, he was a tall, skinny guy with an accent, and I enjoyed spending time with him. He wasn't the love of my life.
That word has stayed with me all these years. As I read Mom's diary, I realized I wasn't just learning about her life; I was seeing a reflection of my own. Unlike my mom, who was inconsistent with boys, I frequently changed my mind about everything—my relationships, jobs, and plans—anything I had the power to alter.
After reading her diary, I came to another realization: Dad didn’t want me to read it until he was gone because he didn’t want me to witness the ups and downs of their early on-and-off romance while he was still alive. Perhaps he believed that seeing her struggles in their relationship would tarnish my perception of her.
But just the opposite. I found a connection. She was not just my mother, but she was that young girl who struggled with choices, challenges, and insecurities, much like I did.
Diaries are precious, especially if their creator is someone we know and appreciate.
I love Mildred's shoes!
I like the way you take us through her life but in so doing reveal your own. This is a lovely mechanism to arrange the story around. I am wrestling with how to write about the large number of family letters from the WWII war years. This is an inspiration.