But my friends were starting to leave, and high school was starting again without me. We'll get slightly ahead here as we go back...
The Incredible String Band sang:
I was a young man back in the 1960s.
Yes, you made your own amusements then,
For going to the pictures;
Well, the travel was hard, and I mean
We still used the wheel.
Tuesday, September 2, 1969
C's familiar knock sounded. "How many hours?" I asked her, opening the door. M, to the side, emerged and followed her in. M asked if there was anyplace to sit. I led them to the family room. M wanted a Coke and there was a small bottle in the refrigerator. At L's house once, he reported, she claimed to have no Coke, until he made her get it from the basement.
I asked M if he wanted a record on. I didn't have any new ones, in answer to his question, and he didn't feel like BS&T, so he chose the Doors' "Waiting for the Sun." It was on low at first, and we talked. M leaves Sunday. He discussed when to visit C, whose mother thinks it improper for a girl to visit a boy at his college. C said the only big weekend at [her school] was Homecoming, for alumni, in Oct. M said he'd fit right in then, a freshman at [his school].
C had taken some fruit and after getting her a napkin, we joined M to sit in front of the record player, where he had just turned over the record, cutting off "Summer's Almost Gone." He skipped "My Wild Love," which I hate too, and played "We Could Be So Good Together" loud, which was fine with me. That song, he said, was on back of "The Unknown Soldier" single, and would have made it a bigger hit had it been featured.
C visited the high school today and said [the principal] has a mustache and beard. Probably trying to perpetuate a liberal image. M is crazy about "Five to One," BLASTING it. As it ended, Mommy yelled to turn it down - they couldn't even hear the TV. C reminded M they had a busy schedule and left to go see R.
My hair is really a problem - it only looks decent in a headband, and I can't wear one all the time. Cutting it won't be much help, I don't think.
Wednesday, September 3, 1969
The first day of school and I'm too old. I couldn't quite believe it - and graduation and senior year don't seem THAT long ago. It's the strangest sensation.
It was a dreary rainy day today. I was awakened by the repeated ringing of the back doorbell. Linda rushed in crying she was never so wet in her life. The bus never came. Daddy drove her to school, and I drifted back to sleep. [After Linda came home] The first day of school babbling was the same - new teachers, new beards on kids, haircuts, schedule comparing and frantic phoning to find someone in your lunch period. I at once wanted to partake in it and was glad to be through with it. Thinking about it, I doubt I could endure another year at Great Neck North Senior High School - there is just so much one can take. But I'll probably be sick of Barnard, too, by the end.
After lunch, we went to Sterling. My glasses were ready - they looked OK, but seemed blurry. By the end of the afternoon, I was convinced they were not the same as my pink (old) glasses, from which the lenses were supposedly duplicated. I'm going to the eye doctor Sat. to try to straighten things out. Fate seems to want to keep me forever in little pink glasses.
[Talked to E] We discussed how strange we felt today (but so do thousands of other recent h.s. grads). Baby P will probably receive a stuffed animal. I also called R. I said M had almost made us deaf last night, and she said she had a visit yesterday, too. "If you speak to E, tell her to have a party," she said, to finish. I felt like an operator, sitting there in the study. I also called [a different] E. She leaves the 9th, and had to go clean the house.
Rumor has it that Ho Chi Minh is dead.
Thursday, September 4, 1969
Yes, Ho Chi Minh IS dead.
[Linda came home] I demanded to hear the details of her classes and felt envious, listening. She told her Spanish class that I took Dr. Ed. and that it was dangerous to drive with me. She had homework today and I couldn't help her with Math.
I had to try on skirts and dresses, which was awful. I must have lost all my weight in my waist; everything needs taking in there and letting out at the hips. I drew the line when Mommy wanted to go through socks, blouses and sweaters.
Friday, September 5, 1969
Dr. M [from Israel] came back from visiting his son in Minnesota and came here. [At dinner] they suggested the Israeli army would make a girl of me. Mommy started talking about contact lenses again.
Saturday, September 6, 1969
[Went to the hospital with my father, waited in his office] I was interrupted by the entrance of a white-haired lady and younger, taller one with dark hair. They peered around in search of Daddy and asked if I was his daughter, after I said he was making rounds. They knew me from the graduation picture Daddy hangs proudly in his office. The older lady had quite a warm smile and said she saw the resemblance and knew me since I was tiny. They chatted with me about school, also couldn't believe I was 17. The dark-haired one's boss's daughter, Bonnie Fox [now Sirower, who I met at Stamford years later] goes to Barnard. Everyone seems to know someone connected with that school.
[At eye doctor] Dr. N found my prescription suitable and the glasses fine. I just had to get used to them. I've been wearing them all day and I'm still not quite secure in their correction, though it's not as bad as before. He termed the new frames "handsome" and Daddy said he should test my lids for contacts. He saw no physical obstruction but said you had to REALLY WANT them to endure the beginning discomfort [this was before soft lenses, which I finally got in 1977].
[then to art store to pick up paintings that had been framed] The owner raved about the store's collection of Liebermans [E's grandfather]. It was nice being surrounded by all that art.
Miss America was on but I only watched part of the talent - expert and cruddy pianists, a baton twirler who was fantastic, and an aria singer with a tiny mouth and wide forehead. Linda and Mommy did a duet dance routine which shook up (literally) the house.