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This Journal Belongs To:
Daniel Tyler Anderson
Wednesday
It's okay to wish, right?
When my foster mother, Miss Marisa, gave me this journal, she told me to draw pictures about my day, about how I feel, and about my dreams. I don't like to draw much, but I do like to write. Course, she doesn't think I can write, but I can. I been reading since I was four and writing since before I started school. But I probably shouldn't tell her that. I'm not supposed to tell a lot of stuff.
So I'll just write down my wishes, 'cause she told me to draw pictures about my dreams. Seems like dreams and wishes are a lot alike, and I got a whole bunch of both. It was nice of Miss Marisa to give this book to me, and I don't want her to think I don't appreciate it. But I'm still nervous about it. Maybe that's dumb. Ana's too young to read it. She can read little words, but not the big ones like me. She wouldn't get it even if she could make out the words. She's just a kid. Miss Marisa and Mr. Nate promised never to look at it. But what if they do? What if they change their minds cause they want to find out more about me? They're always asking me questions about where I'm from and do I have extended family, whatever that is. I told 'em my family only extended to Mama. I have to be real careful not to tell them much else. There's too much stuff I'm not supposed to say, and what if one of those things comes out? Then I'll be in a whole bunch of trouble when Mama gets back.
I guess you're not mad I made a mess on your pages, but I am. A pretty journal like this, and I had to black all that stuff out, 'cause now I'm scared one of them is gonna to read it. And now there's that ugly black mark on my brand new journal. It's so stupid, not worth crying over. Just a dumb piece of paper. But it's mine, and now there's an inky splotchy mess all over the pretty white pages. Like a big stain, and now whenever I open it, I'll see that stupid stain. It feels sort of like my life, all blotchy and messy and crossed out.
Maybe I won't write in this stupid thing after all.
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THURSDAY
I decided to turn the page so I don't have to look at that messy spot. That's okay, right? Even tho I left a lotta paper that I didn't fill in? I don't like to waste, cause Mama says money don't grow on trees. If only money was like flies, cause we had plenty of those. Only not in the winter. And maybe there aren't any flies in New Hampshire. I don't know. Seems like right now, they'd freeze right out of the air and fall like hail. But the snow sure is pretty. Too bad it's melting. But Miss Marisa says it's supposed to snow again maybe next week, so I shouldn't be sad to see it go.
I didn't want to quit writing in the jurnal. That'd be a worse waste than turning the page. I think it's okay I wasted a page. Least I didn't waste the whole book. And anyways, the policeman just left. Officer Nolan. He said to call him Eric. I said Mr. Eric, and he said no, we're friends, and I should just call him Eric. And when he said we were friends, it sort of made me want to cry. That's when I decided I'd write in this again, so I wouldn't start crying and make Eric not want to be my friend anymore.
What I started to say yesterday before I got all dumb was that what I want is a daddy. Mr. Nate is nice, but just like Miss Marisa can't take Mama's place, Mr. Nate can't take the place of a real daddy. I know I don't have a real daddy, which doesn't make sense at all. I don't know everything about where babies come from, but I know it takes a mom and a dad. Caleb told me how it works, and it sounds really gross. I think maybe he was just making stuff up. He does that sometimes. But everybody else has a dad, which means I must, too. But Mama says not to worry about my dad. Not sure why I'd worry, though. More like wonder, but maybe Mama worries about him. Maybe he's not a nice man.
I wonder if I'm like my daddy. Maybe I'll grow up to be not a nice man, too. Mama says I can grow up to be whatever I want. I think she means like a doctor or a policeman or whatever, but maybe I can grow up to be a nice man if I want to. Maybe I don't have to be bad like my real daddy.
Wouldn't it be cool if we could pick our parents? I'd pick Mama for sure. She's the prettiest, nicest lady in the world. Way better than Caleb's mother, even if his mom always took us to fancy restaurants like Chili's. Mama can't afford that, but she took us to Taco Bueno, and I like their tacos way better than the ones at Chili's. And probably Caleb's mama never left him like Mama left me, but she had to. I know she didn't want to, the way she was crying and carrying on. I just wish I knew why.
If I could pick a daddy, I think I'd pick Eric. He's nice and funny and he likes me. He asked me all about what I like, and I told him, because lots of kids like skateboarding, so it's not like he'll be able to figure out who I am if I tell him that. And he promised to buy me one, even though Miss Marisa's eyes got all wide and she started going on about how dangerous it was and how she wasn't supposed to let me get hurt. But Eric just laughed and said he'd buy me a helmet and elbow pads. And he's going to take me somewhere and help me get better, 'cause he said he used to skateboard when he was my age too. Maybe he can teach me something. I can't wait to show him how good I am.
I hope he's the kind of guy who keeps his promises. If he's not, then I wouldn't pick him for a daddy. I think daddies should keep their promises.