Today my buddies came up to Big Bear Lake and we had a great snowball fight! We played pool at the Gold’s and Pictionary at the house. The girls made dinner and the guys had to clean up.
So reads my teen journal. I wrote a lot of things down as a kid (something that would come in handy one day when writing my autobiography). The thing that strikes me most, re-reading these old diaries, is how mundane and ordinary my life was during the crazy period.
We played cards . . .
We slid down the mountains on our brown lunch trays! Fun! Fun! Fun! Oh, and the night before we bought matching sweatshirts.
I got in a fight with my dad . . .
My down time was filled with talking for hours on the phone, caring for my snakes and tarantulas, working out at the gym and getting grounded for talking back to my parents.
Of course, my life wasn’t completely run-of-the-mill.
Went to breakfast at Jack’s Deli . . . We [a friend and I] talked for a while before we had to go to the parade in Chatsworth. I was the Grand Marshal. I rode in a white ’57 Rolls Royce. It was fun. After the parade, I wrote Christmas cards and went to dinner.
January 24, 1988
Went to do the “Phil Donahue Show.”
January 30, 1988
Strange day! This morning went to traffic school. Very good learning but the other kids couldn’t care less. That lasted to 3:00 p.m. I came home and tried to find a white shirt to wear for the award show tonight . . . I ended up wearing a black suit and tie and cummerbund. We had to pick up Tracey and Jeremy on the way down to the American Cinema Awards.
In some ways I was more mature than kids my age, and in others, I lagged behind. I had traveled all over the world, met and hobnobbed with the famous, managed my own career, hired my mother as my employee, bought a house at a very young age, and negotiated deals with my agents who, in turn, negotiated with studios on my behalf. From early on, I dealt with most adults on a level where I had more power than they did. I held down a job that required long hours. I got there on time, responsibly, and did the best job I could.
On the other hand, my reality was skewed. My immaturity resulted from a sense of importance laid on me by nearly everyone I encountered. I lived in a closed world where my words were scripted. I was told where to stand, when to move, how to look, what to wear. I was told when to arrive on the set and when I could leave.
I spent the bulk of my days with a pretend family whose issues always worked out in less than half an hour. We always dealt with conflict in a funny, heartwarming, positive way.
These don’t transfer to the real world of relationships.
As much as I tried to be a kind, generous listener, I’m sure my social skills were lacking. I imagine I was clumsy, abrupt, selfish and moody. I’m sure I made some quick decisions, oblivious to the consequences.
I wasn’t always sure how to deal with difficult relational situations because I had been shielded from so many. People in my professional life never dared to oppose me. They gave me whatever I needed whenever I asked for it. If I spoke, they listened. I was always right. Whatever made my life on the set more comfortable, I could have.
I had enough money to do as I wished, but not enough life skills to relate to people in a healthy way or to perform ordinary tasks such as managing my time, balancing a checkbook or creating and following a schedule.
I didn’t like unfamiliar people or surroundings. I felt very off-kilter, shy and uncertain—the irony being that my career depended on my ability to talk to unfamiliar people in unfamiliar surroundings. One of the most private kids around was one of the most recognizable people in America.
It probably would have shocked my fans to find out how self-conscious I was at the height of my idol-dom. On August 1, 1987, I forced myself to create a self-confidence project, hoping to increase my self-esteem, by listing my positive traits as I saw them.
I am a healthy person. I am very sensitive to others’ problems. I am an honest person, I am a good actor, I am an affectionate person, and I like to be open to suggestions and ready for a change if needed.
I was embarrassed by how I looked—you already know about my zits. My paranoia grew when I discovered “Cameron” literally means “crooked nose.” I went straight to the mirror, examined my nose from every angle and realized with horror that my nose didn’t go straight down between my eyes—it went diagonally.
All I could think about was my stupid crooked nose.
I fretted over how ugly I was and wondered why anyone would want to be around someone so gross. Trying to be helpful, Dad said, “You’re on the cover of 14 magazines this month. Obviously somebody doesn’t think you’re ugly.”
When a normal person runs into other normal people, both people ignore common defects in each other—it’s common courtesy. If a woman has a curling iron burn on her forehead, you don’t bluntly ask, “Is that a hickey on your brow?” If a guy has a bump on his lip, you don’t point at it and say, “Is that a cold sore on your lip? Whose face have you been kissin’?”
But as a celebrity, my looks were open for discussion. Strangers loved to point out anything on my face that seemed awry: zits, blackheads, freckles, pimples and that stuff that forms in the corner of your eyes when you’re asleep. All of it was pointed out to me—and did nothing for my self-confidence.
I used to tell my parents how awful I felt about myself and they would say, “Every teenager feels that way. It’s no big deal.” The most I got was a trip to a dermatologist to get tetracycline.
I became kind of a loner and somewhat depressed. I didn’t go out with my friends. I desperately wanted to, but it was too hard to come home from work where people did not make fun of me, to kids who were ruthless as only teenagers can be. I also felt like I was living in a fishbowl, that everyone was whispering, “Boy, he’s so different in person . . . and his skin is so much worse than it looks on TV.”
I installed red light bulbs in my dressing room and dimmed them. The red light canceled out the red marks on my face. Talk about looking at the world through rose-tinted glasses . . .
At one point I brought make-up home from the set so I could camouflage my facial glitches and look more like Mike Seaver if I absolutely had to go out. One day Mom gently said, “Uh, Kirk, honey . . . guys don’t wear makeup off-camera. I think you should draw the line at Clearasil.”
Hanging in my bedroom alone was easier than going out and keeping up an image.
January 23, 1988
I ate at The Good Earth. I had to get ready for the Golden Globe Awards. I went with Mom, Dad and Iris. I was nominated for the first time!!! For a supporting role in a series. I didn’t win though . . .
I was a quirky one. I loved eating at my favorite restaurant, The Good Earth, every chance I got.
No one could believe it when I chose to go on the Pritikin diet as a young teenager. (At least it gave BOP magazine something new to write about.) The reason I started the diet was that my greatest fear in the world was getting arteriosclerosis. The moment I heard about this horrible disease, I could feel my arteries hardening to plastic. I figured I’d keel over and die at any moment. To delay my impending death (and also to help my mom lose weight by supporting her), I went on the Pritikin diet and became a vegetarian. I ate only the whites of eggs and the staple of my diet was tofu.
Combined with the healthy diet thing, I was a germaphobe. I would never eat something off of somebody else’s plate. If my dad ever took a bite of my food off my plate, I’d push my plate away, disgusted—and done. I also never drank from someone else’s glass. I kept picturing all that backwash.
I was naturally skinny. Because of that embarrassment, and because of my zeal to be healthy, I was obsessed with going to the gym. Every day I worked out for two hours after school or work.
No matter how much I tried to bulk up, I was always the skinniest guy at the gym. I thought, I’m skinny and I have horrible skin. Who will ever want to go out with me? Malcolm Jamal-Warner from The Cosby Show didn’t seem to share my affliction.
When I turned 16, I began to confide in the man who had cut my hair since I was 9, the stylist Fran Rich had recommended. Rick Eichhorn became my closest friend for several years. I think one of the reasons I appreciated Rick was that he never once mentioned anything about my skin or my scrawny build. He was just a friend. I felt very comfortable hanging out with him and talking with him about anything. I didn’t have to hide from him. Rick was my best friend at a time when I really needed someone to confide in.
When I was little, my hair was blonde and as straight as uncooked spaghetti noodles.
One day in my early teen years I was at the beach, using baby oil to get a deep, dark tan. (I may have feared arteriosclerosis, but I thought nothing of skin cancer.) When I got home from the beach, I looked in the mirror to discover curly hair atop my head, as if I had gotten a perm. I chalked it up to it being sticky from the baby oil, salt, sand and air.
After a quick shower, however, my hair remained curly. Forget Malcolm Jamal-Warner—my hair started to look like Lisa Bonet’s!
Not for that reason, but I kind of liked it. Mom wasn’t so sure. She hovered over me—making me feel like the mama’s boy I was—blow-drying the heck out of my hair. She wanted it straight for interviews and auditions.
One day I finally said, “Mom, no more blow-drying. I want to leave it like this.”
I went to Rick and said, “Do something with this mop-top.” He cut and messed with it until I had a loose, curly mullet thing going on—short on the sides, long in the front, long in the back. (Hey, don’t laugh. Mullets made Billy Ray Cyrus—and now he’s got his own little teen star, Miley, to deal with.)
March 19, 1987
It’s really weird that out of all the people in the world, I, Kirk Cameron, don’t have a girlfriend. Everyone seems to think that I’m sooooo lucky and could have any girl I want. But the problem is, I haven’t found anyone yet. I just want someone to love and to love me back. I feel like I’m really missing something in my life. Someday, though, I’ll find her. I just can’t help but ask myself, “Why me?”
My nephew loves to cover his body in bling. He impresses chicks with his sports car. His dream is to be in the shoes I was in at 16. He recently asked, “What was it like, Kirk? I mean, dude! You coulda done anything. Tell me you took advantage of this somehow. Give me the juicy details. This is, like, my dream.”
I guess in the eyes of many, I blew it. I didn’t go out with all the babes. Contrary to National Enquirer, I did not buy my home in Simi Valley to line the walls with women. Maybe I had a smorgasbord of women to choose from, but I was never a playboy. My friends couldn’t believe how I didn’t take advantage of all that female energy rushing in my direction.
I went to Tracey Gold’s prom with her—as friends. I had escorts to movie openings or awards ceremonies—as friends. Sure, I had a crush on Alyssa Milano from Who’s the Boss?. What teenage guy didn’t? But crushes were the safe way out. You could have feelings for someone and still keep your distance.
My heart wasn’t where Mike Seaver’s was—or the bulk of the male population’s. I never got a DUI because I didn’t drink. The only thing I ever smoked was a ham for Thanksgiving. Maybe I would have had more free time to get into trouble with girls if I wasn’t so busy killing rats to feed my snakes. All I wanted was to find one girl and be with her for life.
I really wish that I will meet someone that is so special, and wants to be with me as much as I want to be with her and who will be excited for me about my career and will not be interested in Kirk Cameron the actor, star of Growing Pains. I’m looking for someone who could be my best friend. Someone who is not the least bit phony but who is just so honest and open about her feelings and who genuinely cares about mine and wants to share her feelings with me.
Not too long after I wrote that journal entry, I met a girl on the set. She came in for a quick guest role, and we began seeing each other off set. I grew very fond of her and her family—especially her father, who later became very instrumental in answering my questions about God.
Within a year, my immaturity had made a royal mess of that relationship and left that sweet girl heartbroken and confused. She was the last girl I went out with until the most breathtaking woman in the world entered my life.