With my granddaughter just turning eight, I thought about me being eight. That would have been 1959. Such a long time ago. So much has changed but In many ways, little girls are so much the same. They still believe in fairy tales, get excited about a skirt that twills when they spin around, love bows in their hair, and adore nail polish. They pride themselves on how many times they can rotate on a bar on the playground and how well they can do a cartwheel. They treasure those times when they get to wear big girl shoes, lip gloss and something that sparkles.
Eight is also the age when little girls have deep thoughts and their imaginations run wild. They read “chapter” books with few illustrations and can picture themselves in the story. They also want to tell their own story because they have a lot to share.
I decided to get my new eight year old a diary. I got my first one at about the same age. I wrote every night before going to bed and then locked it up so no one could see my “secrets.”
My own mother kept a diary for the better part of her whole life. She was very devoted. The one thing she said she failed to accomplish in life that she wanted to do was to write a book. I told her she did write a book. I kept her sixty some years of diaries after she passed on at the age of 83. What a story… they are truly a treasure.
Now her great granddaughter can write her thoughts down, record what happens in her life, and start her own biography. As time passes, she will enjoy going back to reread what took place on a particular day, at a certain age, or on a special occassion. The time has come to pass down the key.