From the Archives: Mark Brickman, Camp Heartthrob

This may only be funny to me, but I decided to read through my old diaries yesterday in an attempt to figure out what to write about next and found myself in the depths of pre-high school boy-craziness. Powerful stuff. Take this passage, from August 4, 1998, in which I describe a moment between myself and the guy I had a crush on, who was the other counselor-in-training in my camp group. (I made up the boy's name, to spare him any embarrassment):

"And then...highlight of the day...I got to hold Mark's hat while he drove a go-kart. It kinda smelled though."

To steal my favorite Jo Ann Beard line: Thus spake eighth-grade Natasha.

The next day, I recorded yet another moment of minutia: "At the meeting tonight, I talked to Mark for the longest time I have ever talked to him before, and I learned he is afraid of bees. Oh! How cute! I know I'm pathetic, but oh well!"

Well, at least I was self-aware. And, of course, these two entries are signed: Heart, Natasha Brickman. (Mark's last name, duh.)

I was going to end this post with that, but then, the next entry disclosed that something major happened, so major it was billed as "the most exciting part of my day....drum roll please..." which seems more significant than the aforementioned "highlight." Here it is:

"MARK CALLED ME! When Mom picked up the phone and said, 'Natasha, it's Mark,' I almost died, my veins like ran cold and I was like aaauuugggghhhh!"

First of all, can we note the written use of the word "like"? Gotta love the Valley. Second, the reason Mark called was because he needed to borrow something for his counselor-in-training test (we needed to run an activity with our group of kids). Naturally, I helped him set up and clean up his activity, already the perpetually ready-to-please gal. I knew I was a little crazy, but I certainly was not that self-aware.

And, again, I was going to end this post with that, but then I read on and found out that I got someone at camp to find out if Mark liked me back, and, sadly, he did not. Though, my little 14-year-old self decided that maybe, just maybe, the best course of action was not to give up (too rational!), but instead write Mark a letter "telling him EVERYTHING." I sure had a lot to learn.

After this entry were some loose-leaf pages falling out of my diary. I opened them up to find the (hopefully unsent) rough-draft version of my love letter to Mark Brickman. And because I have recently learned that I am pretty much immune to humiliation (desensitized might be the better way to phrase it), here is some of what I said:

"Remember when I kept you company on the playground? If not, let me refresh your memory. We talked a little about camp and you demonstrated how well your knee pads worked by sliding around on the basketball court. While I drooled. Remember when I was dared to hold the scorpion? It was all for you."

To quote someone who once commented on one of my particularly embarrassing Facebook status updates, "Wow. Really, Natasha? Wow." And this isn't even the worst of it. I would also like to note that at the end of this letter, after I signed my name (the regular way, thank the Lord), I wrote: "P.S.: At your high school you will have so many girls after you, your height won't even matter." (Mark was about 4' 11" max.)

Anyway, if there is a lesson to be learned in rediscovering what I dork I was, it's this: I haven't changed that much since the eighth grade. Sure, I don't write about smelly hats in my journal, but I do get that excited when a certain guy calls. My current journal is filled with details I don't want to forget, but will probably laugh at in ten years in how important they are to me now. And yes, I still write stupid letters like the one I wanted to send to Mark, only now I jot them down within the confines of my head so there's no hard evidence.

I guess I should say that if you aren't the journaling type, maybe take a stab at it. While I spent most of yesterday cringing (I could not have been more embarrassing if I tried. And my verbs were so repetitive! And so many cliches!), having my younger self immortalized on paper is truly priceless.