When I started first grade, my parents gave me a black Mead Composition book, wide-ruled and 200 pages, to encourage me to write.
My first entry:
Another gem, in which I am given a mechanical pencil and forget how to space my letters. I also achieve a sense of self-consciousness once I realize that this is, in fact, a diary:
I’m thinking this is something I should do for my kids too, to remind them just what childhood was like.