As some of you may know, I've been in the process of reading books that have been previously banned or challenged over the years. Yesterday, I started "Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl." This is a book that I've started several times in my life and have never finished. This time, I can't put it down. I've read more than half of the book in less than 24 hours. It's actually rather unfortunate that I never finished it before, because I find myself learning a lot and feeling a deep connection with this young girl from sixty years ago. Aside from the fact that she is an amazing writer, especially considering the fact that she wrote solely for her own eyes, I feel like I was this girl. Everything I read reminds me of the girl I used to be (and often still am). Now, obviously, I can't relate to the true loneliness and frustration she feels and the oppression of her people while her family hides from the Germans and fears for their lives. But, all of that aside, I can relate to the loneliness she feels even though she's surrounded by so many other people. I can understand how frustrated she is that no one understands her and the constantly feeling ridiculed and made fun of by her own family, because she is honest and real and emotional. I've always been that girl. I've always been the one that will tell you the truth and lay all my cards on the table. I've always been the girl that cries when I'm in trouble or angry or sad or frustrated-especially frustrated. You watch this girl grow up before your eyes and learn things about herself that she probably would not have realized was she not in captivity for so long.
The last time I remember trying to read this book was way back in fifth grade, when I was ten years old. I'm sure there was an attempt or two after that, but I remember this time in particular because I remember writing a book report on it and being proud that I got a good grade without having finished the book. I find myself wishing that this girl had been my friend in middle school and high school. It's remarkable how much we had in common and how desperately we both needed each other at the time. This young girl with an opinion and thirst for knowledge, who has so much to say and no real audience to share it with. This intelligent young woman who is so painfully misunderstood by the people she is closest to. I find myself wanting to reach out and hug her and tell her that it will be okay in the end. And at the same time, I sense that she realized that. What an incredibly optimistic girl in a painfully miserable situation.
I've always been a bit sentimental and definitely far too emotional for my own good, but it appears I'm softening even more as I get older (ugh!!!). Simple things make me cry anymore; from seeing a father with his child at the mall to seeing a woman find the wedding dress of her dreams or an elderly person doing their own yard work. Things in my everyday life make me well up and appreciate more of what I have and work harder for what I want. And I definitely find myself having a deeper connection to the books I read. I used to read for pleasure and because it was something that helped me remove myself from my own reality and implant myself into someone else's fantasy. But, lately, I've been reading more for knowledge and having a much deeper reaction to the characters in the book. It's almost like I'm learning about myself by reading someone else's words. I'm not sure if this comes with age or if it's just where I am in my life now, where I'm more willing to accept my own faults and admit to myself what I need to work on. I do know for certain that I almost feel less alone when I'm reading these books. I finished a book just the other night about a girl who feels like an outcast in her own family (not one of my banned books) and couldn't believe the connection I felt to that girl as well. It makes me feel a little silly to have such a connection to a fictitious character, but it comforts me as well to know that I'm not alone. And the young Anne Frank brought that home to me even more. I may not be that crazy, lonely, terrified thirteen-year-old girl anymore, but I am most definitely still the same person...just a little bit more mature. It pains me to see that this girl didn't live long enough to realize her full potential, because I have no doubt she would have made a difference in the world. Although, even in death, she made a difference. Her journals touched so many lives and helped so many people and I only hope that someday I have a daughter as strong-willed and opinionated as she was.
No comments:
Post a Comment