I am eighteen-years-old, in my first semester at college. I consider my Journal a friend, therefore, I write as though to a friend. Two of my classes are Drawing and Social Problems.

Monday, November 28, 1977

Journal,
I am thoroughly confused. Emotions in my mind. Daddy called LaLa’s or Linda’s – I don’t know which one, on Sunday, and left a number for me to call him. I talked to Patty, Jackie, and Mark about it. They all told me to call him. I called him this morning, after my Drawing class. Sarah came home after I talked to him, so I was alone when I called him. I gave him my address and telephone number. I am kind of mad at myself and scared at the same time. What’s going to happen?

I feel so sorry for him. For myself. My family. What is wrong with having contact with him? What is so wrong? After I talked to him, I hung up the phone, went into my room, and started crying. I got so mad at my parents for making me feel so torn, so mixed up. Confused, I hated them for a moment. I should have written my feelings down then.

I love Mother so much. I wish she could understand. I just have a deep urge inside to find out about my father. I wonder what life is like with a father. I want to see what I am missing. I need their love. Mother and Daddy. Damn. How I wish life was different. Write later. Have Social Problems to read. So ironic. We are just starting a chapter on Alcoholism. Shit.