In my first year of high school, I was assigned the task of writing my autobiography. It began, "At thirteen, I look back on the trials and tribulations of my life." I wish I had that essay, it would be interesting to learn of such "trials and tribulations." I look in vain in my diary of the years from age 11, when I began keeping one. I see such entries as "was baptised. It was very nice." In my mind I see the lake, my long gown. I feel the cold water, laying back in Rev. White's arm and going under. I look in the diary written when my sister Doris was at Wallum Lake, hospitalized with tuberculosis. In the diary, the tempo of my days never changed: "Went to school." "Report cards come out soon." "Accepted Jesus as my savior," and so on.
My memory says more: the disappointment when I made my first "C" and I thought, "I'm not as smart as I thought I was." My mother telling me "Go say goodbye to your sister," the day she was to leave for the hospital. Not knowing what to say to her, I ran into my room and found my most precious possession - my Bible - to give my sister.
©Natalie Norman Baer
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