Long before blogging (and journaling), there were diaries. I have volumes documenting my life from age 11 through 25. But at some point it seemed imprudent to have one's most intimate thoughts lying around for anyone to pick up and read (and it's just not the same saving it to a Word .doc). That notion of privacy seems something close to quaint now, with blogging and reality TV and "candid" interviews—Jennifer, Lindsay, Teri—painting the walls with people's insides.
Anyway, a close friend of mine was going through her father's things and found his diary from 1946 Detroit. He started it on January 1st, when he was 11, and made it through 28 entries that first month, and a total of 30 over four years. Step aside, Eminem.
Comments