![My family back during those darn times](http://www.kathleenrowell.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/My-family-back-during-those-22darn22-times-805x1024.jpg)
There was nothing remotely amusing about this entry on May 13, 1964. I was so beside myself with rage I wrote the word “darn” four times, However, reading it – and similar entries– today makes me smile. Why? Because the fears, feuds, worries and daily mortifications that tortured me when I was twelve and thirteen – traumas I believed I’d never recover from – are so awesomely trivial today.
![With our grandparents during one of their visits. Notice my enthusiasm.](http://www.kathleenrowell.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/With-our-grandparents-during-one-of-their-visits.-Notice-my-enthusiasm..jpg)
Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think I stayed incensed for very long. I never reference my rage about the injustice of those dance and piano lessons again. Perhaps that’s not surprising, considering who I really am – a klutz with no interest in or aptitude for piano or dance. Obviously, when I wrote this entry, I confused myself with someone else.
![At least trying to look happy. Getting all 3 of us to look at the camera at the same time was like herding cats.](http://www.kathleenrowell.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/At-least-trying-to-look-happy.-Getting-all-3-of-us-to-look-at-the-camera-at-the-same-time-was-like-herding-cats..jpg)
My sisters claim that as the oldest I was actually the spoiled, indulged child. As evidence, they cite roughly five thousand more photos of me than the two of them. (Baby pictures only – the photo ops dried up once adolescence arrived). However, facts are facts. My mother’s cold smack-down – “your father and I will decide, not you” – says it all. I rest my case.