December 28, 1964
I finished the Shakespearian stage today and am working on the figures. It just won’t stay put together. This afternoon R, a boy from down the street, stopped by looking for Bob. We talked for about an hour. He is the first boy ever to put his arm around me - not including dancing. It was just a year ago it happened. I still wonder why he did it. I’ve got an idea! When (and if!) I have a daughter, when she’s 15, I’ll let her read this! It ought to be quite a laugh for both of us.
December 28, 2022
And it was, at least as I remember it. At some point long ago, my daughter said she wished she had known me when I was a teenager. She thought we might have been friends. I jokingly replied that she probably wouldn’t have liked me then. Not that I was so unlikeable; I had friends, though I was not part of the “cool” popular crowd. But I socialized little outside of school, and spent most of my free time reading (“with my nose in a book”, as my mother complained), watching TV, or playing the piano. I wasn’t much of a talker at school, either. I gradually opened up more when I was away from my family, which happened in stages. The job at Camp Maria Pratt, a summer study abroad in Mexico, and finally college, gradually transformed me into a more recognizable version of myself.
1964 Jo was still a very timid, guarded introvert. Teenaged courting rituals fascinated and confused me. My sexual education, such as it was, had made me both intrigued and fearful. Mom warned me about the power of passion. Dad warned me — literally — about men like him. You might think that “boys are only after one thing” was a cliche, but these words came out of my parents’ mouths more than once. Movie romances convinced me that if a man you hated kissed you, it would make you love him. I had a lot to learn.
So when cute, older neighbor R sat next to me in my brother’s darkened bedroom (Bob was showing us one of the short movies he had made with his Super 8 camera) and put his arm around my shoulder, I just sat there. It felt nice, but it was also scary. I had no idea what it meant, or what - if anything - I should do. What happened was Bob noticed and made a joking remark, and R removed his arm. Sixty years later, it’s still a vivid memory. I was wearing a deep blue sleeveless wool dress that I had made myself. It was very flattering, both the color and the fit: a princess-seamed bodice and a slim skirt. Every time I wore it, I remembered R’s arm. I didn’t have a crush on him, though. I entered his name on my list of “True Boy Friends” in the back of the diary. (That’s Boy Friends, not “boyfriends”, just to be clear. There’s a separate list for crushes.)