Harriet the Spy & I

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When I was a little younger than Timothy, I was obsessed with Harriet the Spy by Louise Fitzhugh.    I got the book as a gift at the end of the school year.  As soon as I finished reading the book, I rode my bike  over to the drug store/stationary place in town and bought a black and white marbled  notebook.    Then I went over to the library,  checked out Through the Looking Glass and memorized The Walrus and the Carpenter.

I identified with Harriet so strongly… she was a little weird, she was lonely, she had a nanny who she spent more time with than her parents  (although I had an outside-the-home full-time babysitter named Frenchy,  at 10 to me it seemed just about the same).   Harriet’s hair was never neat, she climbed trees, and she wanted to be a writer.   She was brave and noticed all kinds of stuff.    She said all the things I never knew other kids thought.

That fall, I started sixth grade and Frenchy was let go.   My brother and I became “latch key kids”.   Lonely and bored, I threw myself into a fantasy life that relied heavily on Harriet and “spying”.

I carried the notebook everywhere, and when that was full, I bought many more.    I wrote during class about everything that happened.    I wrote at night about my father and step-mother,  my parent’s friends and their snotty kids who I had to be nice to… I wrote about every bit of ten year old angst you could imagine.     In my excitement over  playing Harriet… I forgot what happened to her and her notebook.

Of course, you know where this is going.    One day  I came home and my step mother was there.  I have no idea why she was home, but whatever happened, as soon as I came home I knew I was in trouble.  BIG trouble.  I went straight to my room and looked under the mattress for my notebook.. which  was gone.  My heart sank.  I remembered what happened to Harriet in one big, sickening rush.

It could have been worse I suppose.  One of my classmates could have found it like Harriet’s.  But… maybe that would have been better.  My step mother, never a very nice woman to begin with, freaked out.   She screamed at me for hours.   She called her friends and read what I wrote about them and their children.   She put a lock on her bedroom door and took my house key away from me.    She told me the government tortured and shot spies and she should turn me in.  My room was subjected to random searches for diaries or notebooks from then on out.

My step mother allowed that since my father was responsible for me by law,  I could stay in her house and they would feed me until I was 18, but that was it.    I was not to be in the same room as her ever again.  She insisted I made her sick to look at, and so  from then until I left at 15 I was to eat all of my meals in my room alone.   She changed the phone number and did not give it to me so she would not have to speak to me for any reason, even accidentally over the phone.

It makes me so sad even now almost three decades later to think about how crushed I was, how things just took off into a downward spiral from there.  I was sure I was a horrible person.  I threw away Harriet the Spy and jumped feet first into middle school with an eye on self-destruction.

Last night,  the movie version of Harriet the Spy was on.  The kids wanted to watch it.  I sat with them,  emotions washing over me, horrified and sad for Harriet.  I was so thankful when they were shocked Harriet would commit breaking and entering, and that she would write such mean things down.    They were disappointed that she did not try to help the people she spied on.  Obviously, they took away a much different message than I did.    Timothy surprised me by reciting most of the Walrus and the Carpenter.   I cried.  My children are so beautiful, and I am so grateful.

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Filed under Kids, Life, Motherhood Monday, blatherings

Tags: Harriet the Spy, Kids, Life, Motherhood Monday