2007-12-24

Day Two - Lisa The Spy

It's Day Two of Running All Over New England for Christmas, so it's also Day Two of Posting An Example Of Something That Completely Changed My Life For The Better:

Like a lot of kids coming of age in the late 70's/early 80's, I was intimately acquainted with all the Big Names in what's now called "'tween" literature. Judy Blume. Paula Danziger. Beverly Cleary. The greatest of these, although her output was comparatively smaller, was Louise Fitzhugh.

I first read Harriet the Spy in fifth grade, and was utterly smitten. Harriet M. Welsch was everything I wanted to be: clever, intrepid, seemingly impervious to the bullshit politics of 11-year-old girls. Up to that point I'd been writing little stories - mostly for my own entertainment - but here was someone who wrote CONSTANTLY, who was never without a notebook.

The one thing I remember, though, when first reading this, was a slightly irritating feeling of disbelief at the story's key moment: I couldn't believe that Harriet, upon realizing that her classmates had taken her beloved notebook, would sit in mute acceptance of her fate. I distinctly remember thinking: "Why doesn't she just run up and GRAB IT from them?"

How foolish I was.

In the middle of sixth grade, a classmate - under the guise of "doing me a favor" - informed me that the popular girls wanted to steal my version of Harriet's notebook (a dossier of sorts in which I kept my wry, 11-year-old observations of my classmates). Somehow, this girl persuaded me that my notebook would be safe with her overnight (I think about this even now, some 25+ years after the fact -- why I didn't just take it home myself baffles me).

(Jesus. This is actually the first time I've written about this publicly. I remember every single minute of this day like it happened 8 seconds ago. I am 37 years old, but this day has left a still-scorched, indelible imprint on my psyche. Perhaps I overstate things a tad, but I don't think so. Here goes:)

As it turns out, while I was home that afternoon and evening, watching cartoons with my sister and doing homework, this girl - apparently desperate for an "in" with this group of prepubescent harpies - painstakingly transcribed every single page of my notebook into a fresh copy, and handed it over to them the next morning, returning the original to me with all the benevolence of Mother Teresa. I recall that I actually THANKED this girl for keeping such a close eye on my personal belongings. The copy of notebook, in the meantime, made its way around the classroom.

I won't relive every second of that day; I'll spare both you and myself those details. I will say that it was a very, VERY long day. It also happened to be Class Picture Day. The look on my face in my photo is ghastly. My mother kept my fifth grade picture up for a second year instead.

The worst part of it, I think, was the fact that I ripped up my notebook that afternoon and made a big show of throwing it out in front of my classmates, hoping somehow that this would minimize what wound up being fairly insurmountable damage. I spent the rest of sixth grade, and a good chunk of seventh, eating lunch by myself and being prank-called nearly every weekend. My parents transferred me to a new school in the middle of seventh grade.

I still kick myself for throwing out that notebook. It was a good couple of years before I did any writing for myself again. It's hard for me to write about this. It's hard for me to re-experience that betrayal, and that sense of being deeply ashamed of what I wrote, even if a good deal of it was the absolute truth. It's hard, too, to acknowledge how quickly I surrendered to the herd, out of some desperate sense of self-preservation. How much worse would it really have been for me if I'd kept that notebook, kept writing in it? Not very, I suspect. The shunning and mockery would have continued, but I would have at least still had that one outlet available to me.

You're reading this and thinking: "And you think this all changed you for the BETTER?" Ultimately, yes. It's a GREAT book, and I have seriously considered getting one of Fitzhugh's illustrations of Harriet tattooed on my other shoulder. I was such a misfit that if it hadn't been the Notebook Incident, something else would've kicked open the door and totally exposed me to ridicule. It doesn't take all that much.

This site has become my Spy Notebook nowadays. I've had it for well over 8 years and it is every bit as rewarding as that little brown notebook was in 1981. Only this time around, I don't keep it from anyone. This time around, if something gets "leaked" I couldn't be happier. Gets me more readers, maybe even a new friend here and there. In that respect, it's MORE rewarding.

lisamcc at 8:47 a.m.

5 comments so far
Andrea
2007-12-24 10:24:14
Oh Lisa...this just made my heart hurt. Sixth-grade girls are EVIL. I was ostracized by most of my sixth grade class for months because two girls thought I was using one of their friends to be popular. I'll never forget the day that started either...
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lj lindhurst
2007-12-24 11:07:48
oh, girl--you are not alone! I too was ostracized--starting around Grade 4 through the sixth grade. It wasn't anything that I did, though--it was because of my mother. My mother was so crazy/evil, and such a disruptive influence in our small town (and at the school), that the teachers would routinely make fun of me (and my sister and brother) openly about it. Which in turn lead to the other kids doing it. Which lead to... well you know. Going deep in my head. Reading. Writing. Drawing. Listening to Pink Floyd The Wall over and over and over again. And eventually withdrawing to an irrevocable extent. So yeah--I hear you! but anyway, HOPE YOU HAVE A MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! you don't know it, but you have been a big inspiration to me this year...
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julie
2007-12-26 08:49:29
When I was in 6th grade, likewise inspired by Harriet, I took a spiral notebook and wrote constantly. Already considered wierd, when my notebook was stolen & read, it merely confirmed their opinion. And humiliated me. But - like you, it also helped define who I was. And while I stopped carrying a notebook with me, I continued writing through my college years. And am now considering starting again.
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Jess
2007-12-28 14:09:08
I used to wear fake glasses just like Harriet. I loved that book too. I was pretty ostracized as well, um, just for being me. A dork. Then in high school, I was known as "The Dyke" because I told my english teacher (in class) that just because someone was gay, it didn't mean they had AIDS and that he shouldn't call then "fags" (seriously). That was a hard 2 years. People would literally yell "DYKE!" at me as I walked down the street.
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mumma
2007-12-29 19:30:28
Good for you...you finally put it all into words after all these years. I wish I had such an outlet for my own feelings/guilt over that situation. Still cannot comprehend how it happened and often have felt that somehow, somewhere those little (w)itches would "get theirs." Alas, tho' we like to think that happens like in books and movies, it doesn't. People do things and go on with their lives as if their actions have no effect on others. Those girls have gone on and not one of them or their mothers ever made any attempt to express any regret over the pain they caused. I still shake my head in puzzlement, unable to grasp their total imcomprehension and lack of compassion. A defining moment for you? That does not even begin to describe that event. Oh, and by the way, I destroyed all those class pictures...
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