January 7, 1965
I'll bet I flunked or almost flunked my Spanish test. I didn't study and I know it. Also, I was pressed for time. I'm always the last one done. We had a Geometry quiz and I did very well, I think. It's about time!
I didn't have music! Yippee. A reprieve! We went shopping instead. I got a dress pattern and some cool material, too. I also got "Willow Weep for Me". Bob got "I Feel Fine". He can have it. b/w "She's a Woman".
January 7, 2006
The music class I was so happy to escape was an enrichment course at a local private school, Wykeham Rise. It was some sort of arts outreach program for the local riff-raff, and my older brother and I both went there once a week after school. Bob was taking drama and I was one of two students taking music. By January, I was getting tired of the weekly performance stress -- having to play piano or recorder in front of my teacher. The drive to and from WR with Bob, on the other hand, was hilarious, as he entertained me with caustic imitations of our teachers.
"Willow, Weep for Me" was a cover of an old ballad by a British pop duo, Chad and Jeremy. I was much taken with them -- especially Chad Stuart, the one with the glasses. Clearly, I was less fond of the Beatles' latest, especially Ringo's utterly boring "She's a Woman". The only thing interesting about Ringo was his uncanny resemblance to my elementary school friend P. Poor thing.
January 7, 2023
I seldom “flunked” a test, much less in Spanish, which was my best subject. I was saving my failures for Physics, which took my senior year. But I seldom studied for anything until I went to college. In truth, high school was a huge snooze except for gym, friends, and sock hops.
It’s fun to contrast my list in 1965 with my present existence as a retiree in 2023. I do still babysit, for my grandson. My tastes have changed in ways 15-year-old Jo would find baffling. My most recent purchase was an album of early Sephardic music. My favorite playlists are Bollywood, Celtic, and various blues women. While my husband, our son, and his girlfriend were away untrimming the church sanctuary today, I took our decorations down while watching a South Indian movie on Netflix. There is very little that I did as a teenager that I still enjoy, even playing the piano, which I used to do by the hour. The truth is that when I read this diary, I connect with the emotions, but in a weird detached way. It’s sympathy, not empathy. I remember how I felt, but no longer share those feelings. Was that really me? Seems impossible.
Valuable, those thoughts on looking back on our different selves.