When Your Dad Reads Your Diary


Funny story. I got home from work yesterday and found my dad knee-deep in my private journal, which I’d accidentally left out in the living room.

I’d been writing in it recently and just neglected to put it away, and so there he was, casually and deliberately leafing through the pages.

He seemed a bit sheepish when I entered but said he’d just happened to see it there, opened it, and found it pretty compelling.

“2012 was a rough year for you,” he said, gesturing at the early pages.

Yep, I guess so.

Anyway, I post this now mostly because once I got past the initial shock and embarrassment of his reading my private thoughts, I decided I’d be fine answering his questions about what he’d read and having him look at the rest of the bits he hadn’t seen yet (after I scanned them to ensure he wasn’t part of the plot). And somehow having him know everything (well, most everything) that goes through my head when I write intimate and conflicted thoughts was sort of a relief.

He and I have had an increasingly close relationship over the past ten years or so, and he knows a lot more about me now than he ever used to.

So I figure I’ve got nothing left to lose at this point and will just go ahead and post all my private journals and diary entries right here in this blog too.

Yeah, right.

As if you could read my handwriting.

Anyway, it’s interesting to get an outsider’s perspective on my neuroticism, quirkiness and occasional navel-gazing. And the other upside is that we FINALLY have something to talk about other than the weather.


He’s in town another several days, and then I can write what I REALLY think about him in my journal.

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