Tuesday, August 2, 1960
Yesterday Mama made me get away from the cow lot so I wouldn't see the bull "doing his business." But Mama doesn't know that I've watched lots of animals doing that. And I've been seeing them since I can remember, probably ever since I was three or four. It hasn't been just cows, either. It's been pigs and chickens and cats and dogs and birds. I've even seen earthworms doing it! And flies, for crying out loud! How could I live on a farm with lots of animals and not see what the animals do, anyway? It doesn't seem to me that they are doing anything wrong. How could they? Animals don't know about right and wrong. Mama has always said that animals act on instinct. And so they must not get embarrassed "doing it," either.

Wednesday, August 17, 1960
Mama and El stayed sitting at the picnic table visiting. They didn't know I could hear them, either, but they were talking about me! Aunt El told Mama she was lucky to have a daughter like me because I'm not wild, or crazy about boys, and I'm so sweet and quiet, and never give Mama an ounce of trouble. Mama just said to El, "Yeah, look at her—not a care in the world. But then, she doesn't know what's going on in the world, either!" I wasn't sure what to make of that, but I knew I didn't want to hear anymore, so I left. Mama probably thinks because I don't talk a lot that I'm just plain stupid or something. Actually, though, I really don't know what's going on in the world. Am I supposed to know? Does Mama? Does anyone? But then how could anyone but God know what's going on in the world? It's a very, very big world, you know, and God is the only one I've ever heard of who can be in all places and know all things! It is true, though, that I'm not crazy about boys—just one boy. And I don't talk about him to anyone but you, Diary. That's why I call it my "Billy Secret." Still, what Mama said really hurts my feelings.
And I wonder, if she knew the kind of things I think about, would she still say that I don't have a care in the world?

Wednesday, September 28, 1960
After school today, I was in the kitchen talking to Mama, and I was all happy and excited, telling her about the things that happen in school. Then I talked about my classes and the nuns and the homework I have to do. I really thought she liked knowing about all these things; she’s always after me to talk to her. But suddenly she said very loudly and very irritably, "Oh, all you ever talk about is school! Why can't you be more like Jody and talk about other things?" That really shut me up quick, don’t think it didn’t! Now it looks to me that maybe that’s exactly what Mama intended! Did she also mean to hurt my feelings so badly? To say this whole thing hit me like a thunderbolt is putting it mildly! I came up to my room then and slumped on my bed like a limp dishrag. It might have seemed like I was looking out the window, alright, and I was staring across the Bottomland, but I wasn’t actually seeing a thing—everything was just one big blur… (Sigh!) I just never know how to please Mama; it seems that no matter what I do it’s the wrong thing! Diary, I’m afraid that a terrible, new kind of sadness and hurt started to grow inside me today—to gnaw away at my guts—and I don’t like it! It’s not a good thing!
Mama used to tell me to keep my aches and pains to myself. Now, I guess I'll have to keep school to myself, too. And that doesn't leave me a whole lot of “other things” to talk about, does it, Diary, because school is pretty much all I have…


Tuesday, December 6, 1960
…I thought yesterday was horrible, but today was even worse! Today the whole high school walked uptown to the funeral home. It was very gray, dreary, and cold out, but it just didn't matter. We all walked along very quietly, except for some people who were crying and sniffling. When we got to the funeral home, we went inside in single file and walked slowly past the three open coffins. Anyway, that's what we were supposed to do, but when I came to [his] coffin, I just stopped and stood there looking down at his white face and hands. I saw that the right side of his head above his ear was all scraped and there was no hair—not even a “shadow” of hair. Not that he had a lot of hair anyway because he always had a fresh flat top. But now, that part of his head was very shiny and looked like smooth, tight plastic. I thought it didn't look real—that he didn't look real—that none of this could be real! And I felt very strange—as if I wasn't really there at all, that I was in some kind of awful dream. But I could still feel my stomach, and it felt like there was a huge rock sitting in it. And my throat felt the same way, so all this must truly be happening! I thought I was going to pass out…