by Diane Lang
Monday, 1–1
Happy New Year, Mrs. Pope!
Hope you had a great Christmas break. Every Christmas Eve at church we have a special celebration where we go outside and sing carols around the manger. Then we prepare baskets of food with hams and turkeys to take to the soup kitchen on Christmas Day. This year my family woke up real early on Christmas Day, and we helped pass out the food baskets. People were really happy to get them. Some of the little kids looked really excited, which goes to show you how much we take for granted. There’s always been plenty of food around my house, too much of it most of the time. Same for most people I know. I mean, I can see getting excited about a Wii or a Total Gym, but food is something that comes with the house. Or so I thought before this morning. It made me feel really bad to think that some kids don’t get enough to eat and their moms can’t afford to make their lunches.
When I stare at the fat on my body, I think of the poor kids who can’t gorge themselves with cookies and rolls, and I feel really guilty. I told Dad how I felt and he said that sometimes a lot of weight doesn’t mean you’ve eaten too much. It means you’ve eaten the wrong things. He said he sees many obese poor kids; he says it’s because they can’t afford to eat healthy. Places that offer free food can only afford to hand out the cheap high–carb foods, like white bread and boxes of macaroni. Sounds like another one of those catch–22 things my dad always talks about.
Thursday, 1–4
Please Don’t Read This Page
Paul came over yesterday and looked really weird. I didn’t see him at all during Christmas break, not even at church. I caught my parents looking at each other when they saw him. He’s let his hair grow out—it’s below his chin—and it doesn’t look like he’s washed it in a week. He even dresses different now. And then he wears this stupid hat, a French beret thing, and his jeans are really big with chains hanging on them. Paul showed me his schedule, but we’re not any of the same classes. He says school’s a waste of time and all teachers are losers; otherwise, they’d be doctors or businessmen. I had to keep the windows in my room open and spray Lysol, because he smokes. My parents would freak if they found out he was smoking in my room. He said he smokes weed too, and that I should try it. He said I need to chill out and stop worrying about my weight so much. Paul has a real attitude. I think his parents are getting to him and he smokes pot to escape from them. He’s got a new girlfriend and he talks about all the things they do together. Things I can’t write about in here. What if you dropped the journal and it accidentally opened to this page? Not a chance I want to take.
Paul brought up the killer again. He and his new girlfriend have been spying on the predator’s house at night. Paul’s girlfriend’s brother has a car, so he drives them over there, so they can watch in the windows. The man’s always on the phone and drinking a beer. He paces around the house and sometimes sits in front of the TV. Not a very exciting life if you ask me. So far, no proof that this guy murdered Kimberly. Paul’s thinking about calling the police about him anonymously. I think it’s a long shot. Or a wild goose chase. But, so far, it’s been a long goose chase.
I have to study for our test on A Separate Peace. Wish I could be more like Finny. I can identify with Gene Forester, because sometimes I get jealous of Spencer’s life—I mean he can get any girl he wants, he’s smart, he’s a great athlete—how lucky can one guy get? Just like Finny.
Friday, 1–5
I’m pretty sure I aced the test today. Some of the kids were complaining because of so many long essay questions, but I’m glad you don’t give those true/false tests. I think it’s bogus to ask questions about what color shirt the kid wore, and picky stuff like that. It’s better to ask what we got out of the book and what we think of the characters. I mean, you can’t really answer questions like that if you haven’t read the book. And it’s a lot harder to cheat on essay tests. I do better on them anyway, probably because I like to write. I guess you’re surprised at that, since I complained so much about writing this journal. But now I think it’s pretty cool and it gives me a chance to record things that are happening in my life right now. I’ll never be fifteen again or feel the same way as I do now. Like how much pressure my parents put me under. I mean, they’re nice and everything, but they want me to be the perfect student, the perfect musician, and now they’re pressuring me to try out for baseball. They keep bringing it up because when I was in the fifth and sixth grade, I was pretty good at it. Especially at pitching. I guess they forgot about the football and soccer disasters in the seventh and eighth grade.
No matter what I say, they just don’t seem to understand. I told them I can’t keep up with all my classes and play sports. Especially since they expect me to get all A’s, and I’m involved with all my church activities. And I made Honors Jazz Band—seems like that should be enough.
Saturday, 1–6
My parents think I spend too much time alone in my room playing video games. I do that some but I spend a lot of time on homework. I’m reading Lord of the Flies, since you gave us four chapters to read over the weekend, which I think is unfair. Don’t get me wrong, I like the book, but we do have other classes. Plus, you expect us to write in our journals on the weekends.
Okay, I just finished the chapters you gave us. They were pretty good, but I have one problem with it. Thanks, Mrs. Pope, for picking a book that has a fat kid named Piggy on page five. I hate all the description too. The best parts are when the book talks about the kids and how they form teams. Jack gets all the jocks, while Ralph gets stuck with Piggy, who can hardly see, much less run all over the island. The way the boys make fun of Piggy reminds me of last year when I was on the SAY team. We had practice on Tuesday afternoons, and this one day it was really hot—I mean like an oven. So everyone was really exhausted. Our coach decided about half way through practice that we were going to split into two groups and scrimmage. He had vests to put over our shirts to separate one team from the other, but since it was so hot out he decided to have us go skins and shirts. I really wanted to be on the shirts team because I’m so big and when I run, my chest flops up and down.
Well, you guessed it. I was put on the skins team. Once I heard that, I said, “Ummm, Coach…” But he ignored me and said, “Come on, Winterpock.” So instead of putting up a fight, I took my shirt off even though I knew I was going to be embarrassed. Right when I took my shirt off, I heard a snicker and knew I had made a big mistake. I ran to my position anyway, and as I ran, I looked at the ground so I wouldn’t have to look in the eyes of any of my teammates. When I got to my position, I looked up and the team was staring at me with grins on their faces. The scrimmage started and it worsened. Since I was so big, I couldn’t run that fast. It didn’t matter which way I ran, I’d run and the kids near me would laugh, especially the one I was trying to get the ball from. All practice kids laughed and pretended to be me by moving their hands up and down on their chests. When Coach said practice was over, I ran to my shirt and put it on real fast. I then ran all the way to the car where Dad was waiting to pick me up. That was my last practice and the last time I played on a soccer team. I told Dad I hated soccer and I wanted to quit. But that was a lie. I really like soccer.
Wednesday, 1–10
Yay! We had a snow day today. By the time it quit snowing, we had five inches. It was so exciting to see our county’s name at the bottom of the TV screen.
Since I was stuck at home, I watched TV all day. TV is full of food commercials. No wonder there’s such a weight problem in our country. I’m not blaming my weight on TV, but it doesn’t help when they keep throwing Big Macs and Whoppers with jumbo fries in your face all the time. It’s all about making money for corporate America— who cares about all the health problems people, especially kids, have because of junk food? And then there are the cereal commercials with all the sugar, and candy bars, and those snack packs with hunks of fat in them, not to mention all the beer commercials. Now someone’s come out with pre–packaged peanut butter and j
elly sandwiches cut into cookie–shapes with the crust removed. I mean, how hard is it to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from scratch out of a couple jars, which probably has about half the preservatives of the prepackaged stuff? It never stops. Kids, especially little kids, want their parents to buy them what they see on TV. I know I did when I was little. I remember crying for Captain Crunch at the grocery store because I had seen it on television. You never see commercials for fruit and vegetables, only food filled with fat. I don’t ever remember being anything but fat, but it never bothered me until now. My doctor said obesity can cause all kinds of health problems, and that bothers me. I’m trying to do something about my weight, but it’s not coming off fast enough. I really work hard at not eating so much, but when I get on the scale I’m still fat, so then I don’t try anymore. I wish there was a magic pill that could make all my fat go away. Then I’d have more friends and be really happy.
Sunday, 1–14
Lord of the Flies
I like the book, but kids from our class make oinking noises in the hall when they see me. Or yell, “Piggy! There’s Piggy! Get his glasses!” It makes me sick inside when they do that. None of the teachers hear them, so they never get in trouble. The kid who sits behind me in math wrote “Piggy” in pen on the back of my good shirt. My mom was really mad about it and wanted to go to the principal. I begged her not to. It would only make things worse. I sent a note to Mr. L asking if I could move. He read it but didn’t do anything.
You said Piggy was Jack’s superego because he always follows the rules, and he’s a parent figure, unlike the rest of the boys, who run wild. I guess I’m like Piggy, because I follow the rules, and do pretty much what my parents tell me to do. I really like my parents and don’t see any reason trying to get away with stuff. I tell them everything, except how the kids at school tease me.
Paul can’t tell his parents anything. It’s worse now that Paul’s into Kimberly’s murder and stuff. He still comes over a lot—when he’s not grounded. His parents stopped going to church, but Paul still goes sometimes. Most of the time he reeks of weed and alcohol, but my parents never say anything about it. I think he goes to church to get away from his parents. I feel sorry for him, sorrier than I feel for me. His dad rips on him about everything.
Last year he ran away from home and came to my house. He hid out in my room, but his dad figured out where he was. When Paul heard his dad’s voice downstairs, he started shaking.
Then his dad yelled at him to come down. Paul tried to climb out the window but saw it was too far down and gave in. His dad called him a “stupid, idiot kid” and threatened to whip him. My dad tried to calm Mr. Grove down and told him that’s not the way to solve problems.
Mr. Grove didn’t listen and pushed Paul out the door. When they got in the car, I think his dad backhanded him. I felt so bad, and my mom started crying. My mom called social services, but they said it wasn’t bad enough for them to do anything.
When the Groves found out my mom called social services, Paul wasn’t allowed to talk to me on the phone for two weeks, and I didn’t see him or his parents at church for a month. When he finally came back, he was the same old Paul, and I was glad to see that his dad didn’t kill him or anything. We’ve been best friends ever since.
Paul came to church with us today, and he looked really bad— his eyes were all red and his hair looked like he had poured Crisco oil over it. He had on jeans with holes in the knees and a raggedy shirt. Not exactly church dress. But my parents acted like he was the most clean–cut kid they ever saw and joked around with him and stuff. He laughed and told them some story about a kid who flunked his driving test six times, and seemed like the same old Paul again. After church my parents dropped us off at McDonalds and I told him how the kids at school call me “Piggy.” I tried to make a joke out of it, but I really wanted him to tell me it’s no big deal. Instead, he told me what happens to Piggy at the end of the book. He said it might give the mean kids ideas, and they might do the same to me. I don’t really take him seriously, but I admit I’m a little scared. When I read the book now, I can’t help but think I’m Piggy, I hear it so much. Lately, I’ve been getting a stomach ache on the bus ride to school.
Monday, 1–15
Spencer’s been acting funny lately. He never comes over and talks to Allen and me during lunch anymore. He doesn’t even sit with us on the bus in the mornings, but I can’t blame him for not wanting to hang out with a couple of fatties. Spencer’s a popular kid and we just bring him down.
That girl in my science class I really like, Whitney Elliot, the one Spencer doesn’t like, volunteered to be my lab partner. I wrote up the reports for us—she had some good ideas. I mean, she’s smart, but only one of us needed to write up the report, so I took up the slack. I did feel uncomfortable at first, like she was using me, but then she started talking about litmus tests and how she loves science and how she came in third in her 8th grade science fair, and how she really wants be a chemist someday, so I changed my attitude. Just because a girl is really pretty doesn’t mean she’s not smart. Whitney is saving up for a telescope, one of those really expensive ones. I told her about my dad’s telescope and how we can see Jupiter through it. She loves to read Crichton books, and so do I. We both read Jurassic Park. We got along really good in lab, but she doesn’t talk to me any other time. Probably because of my weight—I keep thinking what the doctor said. If I don’t lose it now, I’ll be fat all my life. I think he said obese instead of fat, but there isn’t any difference. Fat is fat.
The speech we read today by Martin Luther King, Jr. was cool. He hoped that one day we wouldn’t judge one another by outward appearance, but value people by how they are on the inside. My Nana always says “beauty is as beauty does.” Old people say that a lot. I’m not old, but I agree with Nana and Dr. King.
Tuesday, 1–16
Paul rode home with me on the bus. Allen wasn’t in school today, so the picking wasn’t as bad as usual. Paul laughed back and shot the bird to everyone. The bus driver had to stop the bus to quiet everyone down. She told Paul that next time he needs a note from the office or he’s not allowed on our bus. He started to smart off to her, but I told him it wasn’t worth it. She’d kick him off the bus and he’d have to walk the rest of the way. I was glad when we finally got to my stop.
My mom ordered pizzas for us, two larges from La Rosa’s. While we ate, Paul told me his dad lost another job. “It’s really bad,” he said. “Dad sleeps all day, and my mom’s drinking’s getting worse. She yells at him all the time and calls him a no–good bum and lazy ass. He’s been in bed almost two weeks. He only gets up to pee, and then two nights ago, he wet the bed. Can you dig it? A grown man wetting the bed. He won’t even look at me anymore, and yells if I try to talk to him. Man, you don’t know how good you have it.”
I feel sorry for Paul because his parents are crazy. It seems so unfair that kids are at the mercy of their parents’ character. Paul wouldn’t have chosen an alcoholic mother or a mean father. I think if kids had a choice they would pick parents like mine. But even they’re not perfect. As good as they are, they still let me get fat. For Paul, there’s nothing I can do to help other than listen.
He hasn’t mentioned the murder lately. I guess he has other things to worry about now, like living in his uncle’s basement with his parents. At least he has his girlfriend but he thinks she’s cheating on him. He found an empty sex wrapper in her car. You know, those things you buy at the drugstore that guys use so they don’t get a girl pregnant. Anyway, she said she let her girlfriend use her car, and that the wrapper must have belonged to her friend. But Paul doesn’t buy it. He says every time he calls her to “party,” she makes up some kind of excuse. And she doesn’t call him back right away, like she used to. Man, he’s going to be really bummed if she breaks up with him.
Anyway, the news has calmed down about Kimberly. The only thing they say is that her boyfriend is on suicide watch. That really sucks.
/> Wednesday, 1–17
Ok, I don’t get it. What a crazy story. A bunch of kids get stranded on an island. One kid picks up a conch shell, gets everybody together, and then gets voted the leader. But another kid gets jealous and turns half the kids against the leader kid, and they put on war paint and run around with spears and threaten to kill the kids who are just trying to build shelters and a fire. Why do kids give bullies so much power? Ralph was fair. He had a plan for survival and rescue, but Jack just wanted to hunt and kill. And he was really mean to Piggy. He even gets the kids to kill Piggy. I don’t know if I agree with Golding—I think a bunch of kids would be so scared they’d follow any kid who acted like an adult. I know I would. Kids complain about their parents, but hate it when they have crappy ones, like Paul’s parents, who half the time don’t know he exists. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with Jack—he probably had parents like Paul’s. In class you said that kids want to know that there’s someone who’ll stop their behavior when it gets out of control. The only thing that gets out of control with me is my eating.
My parents don’t say much about my weight, because they can see I’m trying. They tell me all the time how proud they are of me. I get good grades and pretty much do what I’m supposed to. I don’t sneak out, do drugs, smoke or drink, so they probably think they got off easy with me.
I know they compare me to my sister who’s really moody and yells at them for nothing. They worry so much about her, I guess it’s a relief that I’m not a pain like she is.
Thursday, 1–18
No offense, but what you did yesterday was useless. It didn’t really prove anything, because the class knew that an adult would walk in any minute. Some of the kids ran around the room and threw things and someone, I’m not saying who, searched through your desk. A few morons wanted to skip out, but I warned them they’d get caught. I passed out the worksheets you left on your desk, and some of the class got into groups and tried to follow the directions. I got hit in the head with a pencil. Everyone was out of their seats except for a few of us. I noticed even the loud kids kept checking the door to see if you were coming. No one pressed the call button, because we didn’t want to get you in trouble for not showing up for class. That’s because everybody likes you. If you were one of the disliked teachers, like Mr. Sammons, the class would have pushed the button.