The first first I suppose was my first telephone call from a guy. The guy - none other than Gary C. The next first was first date - Gary again. Then a few months later came my first real boyfriend - Robert W. With that relationship came my first kiss. Then a few days later came my first close death - Grandpa Green. I drove for the first time too. Another first was the first time a guy came to visit me (Jeff Y. it was!) Then came the first time I applied for a job (at Zayre).
I think I learned a lesson from each first and although each day of the past year wasn't bright and sunny, the year on the whole was superb!
Another exciting thing is that is coming up is my trip. This summer I, Dona Lee Patrick, am going to England. I am quite happy -- but nervous. And sort of apprehensive because it seems too good to be true.
Oh -- something not so grand happened Christmas Eve. Uncle Quay was drunkish as usual. When we walked in the house he gave me a "Merry Christmas" kiss which was all right. But was it all right when later he confronted me in the hall and tried to kiss me again? He didn't succeed but instead patted my behind and wasn't fast to remove his hand. Then when I was leaving Pam's room he just happened to be there and pulled me into the doorway of the bedroom (which luckily was closed) and tried to hug me or something. He had his arm around my neck and wasn't going to let me go. He did though and I ran down the steps. I was really frightened -- but I haven't told mother yet. I don't think I should because she will really blow up I think.
Note:
It was my custom to write in my journal on the last day of the year just before the clock struck midnight. Either I had not started that tradition or I thought I had too much about which to write in order to do it properly.
This was a post that I wasn't sure I would upload. At least the last paragraph. It took me decades to forgive my uncle, and I only did so after his suicide. I am still furious about it, however.
I eventually told my mother. I don't exactly recall her reaction, but I think it wasn't the "Oh my God Dona. That is terrible. That should never have happened to you." I think she said that my uncle was notorious for making passes at people.
While we are on the subject of older men making passes at younger girls and I've read ahead in my journal and not found mention of this, my guitar teacher also made a pass at me during a guitar lesson. It may have been the lesson where I met "Tim", but it may have been later, but I think "Tim" was there, but in another room.
Mr. T had been asking me about boys and if I had a boyfriend. I said I didn't and that I liked some boys as friends. He then leaned over and kissed me on the lips. I was stunned and confused, but as soon as he left the room I got up and left. I think I told "Tim" to tell Mr T I had to go home. I didn't return for guitar lessons after that. I didn't' tell my mother about that either until much later. She did seem to get upset about that, and said it was good that I had not told my father because he would have probably confronted Mr T. That too, still makes me furious. Mr T also met a grisly end. He died when his trailer home burned up. I believe I heard that he was somehow locked in. It can't have been a good way to die.
I should feel bad that my uncle stuck a rifle in his mouth and pulled the trigger and Mr T died a painful death, trapped in his trailer. Part of me does feel a little bad. I don't feel glad anymore (although I did at first). I just don't really feel anything about either of those men's deaths.
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