After nearly seven decades of struggling through a very real world, a world I was never able to change to suit my peculiarities, but rather one in which I was forced to change myself in order to survive--not to mention thrive--I would expect to be a very different person coming out of all that than I was going in.
Rummaging through a box of ancient odds and ends from my early life, I uncovered a little black notebook containing sixteen pages of diary, beginning Oct. 16, 1966. I was sixteen years old then, just a sprout, leafless, totally dependent. And there on page two, after a general description of our farm, our family, and my life as a child, I described myself:
“All this has led up to what I am, which isn’t anything special. Out of the ordinary—yes—but special—no. I am somewhat ambitious and have a craving to learn. My ambition is to be a biologist, although that does not mean I won’t end up being a ditch digger. I have a theory (I am always making theories) as to why I am like this. I may as well put it down here, even though it will not interest anyone but myself, in later years. There are quite a few reasons why I have this ambition and will to learn….” And I go on for FIVE PAGES describing why I loved to learn things. Not the things themselves, but why! Theories! It wasn’t enough that I had to understand why other things existed, and how they worked. No. I suddenly put down my books and ideas and asked myself what was going on in my own head. Why did I want to know all these things? And so then I worked on that problem, as if it were about the deer in the forest, solved it, and then went back to everything else. And I’m still doing that. After sixty-seven years. Constantly. Every day. Every hour of every day. And now that I’ve just written that (“Constantly. Every day. Every hour of every day.”), once again, fifty-one years later, I look at those phrases and automatically wonder why. All over again. Why constantly? Why every hour of every day? So here I am, right now, re-analyzing the theories I wrote in those five pages, and adding ones I hadn’t thought of then. Re-weighing, balancing, re-working the percentages. I can’t help it. That’s just who I am. I haven’t changed a bit.
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Rummaging through a box of ancient odds and ends from my early life, I uncovered a little black notebook containing sixteen pages of diary, beginning Oct. 16, 1966. I was sixteen years old then, just a sprout, leafless, totally dependent. And there on page two, after a general description of our farm, our family, and my life as a child, I described myself:
“All this has led up to what I am, which isn’t anything special. Out of the ordinary—yes—but special—no. I am somewhat ambitious and have a craving to learn. My ambition is to be a biologist, although that does not mean I won’t end up being a ditch digger. I have a theory (I am always making theories) as to why I am like this. I may as well put it down here, even though it will not interest anyone but myself, in later years. There are quite a few reasons why I have this ambition and will to learn….” And I go on for FIVE PAGES describing why I loved to learn things. Not the things themselves, but why! Theories! It wasn’t enough that I had to understand why other things existed, and how they worked. No. I suddenly put down my books and ideas and asked myself what was going on in my own head. Why did I want to know all these things? And so then I worked on that problem, as if it were about the deer in the forest, solved it, and then went back to everything else. And I’m still doing that. After sixty-seven years. Constantly. Every day. Every hour of every day. And now that I’ve just written that (“Constantly. Every day. Every hour of every day.”), once again, fifty-one years later, I look at those phrases and automatically wonder why. All over again. Why constantly? Why every hour of every day? So here I am, right now, re-analyzing the theories I wrote in those five pages, and adding ones I hadn’t thought of then. Re-weighing, balancing, re-working the percentages. I can’t help it. That’s just who I am. I haven’t changed a bit.
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Linda Eva Williams Good looking boy. But you're right: FIVE pages... and counting up from there! Too funny.
Unlike · Reply · 1 · 6 hrs · Edited
Stan Burfield I think I was maybe 12 to 14 in this photo.
Like · Reply · 6 hrs · Edited
Linda Eva Williams Is that a knife on your belt?
Unlike · Reply · 1 · 5 hrs
Stan Burfield My hunting knife. Aside from his dog, in those days a hunting knife was a farm boy's best friend.
Like · Reply · 1 · 2 hrs
Linda Eva Williams I think we should all carry at least a Swiss army knife.
Unlike · Reply · 1 · 2 hrs
Stan Burfield I have one of those tiny ones on my key chain: It has a blade, a scissors, a nail file/screwdriver, a tweezers, and even a plastic toothpick. For boys of all ages.
Like · Reply · 2 hrs
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Barbara Green Why? Because it's FUN!
Unlike · Reply · 2 · 6 hrs
Kathryn Alexander Happy Birthday and rebirth days too Stan, becoming a self is a life long project - enjoy this year with your beloveds <3
Unlike · Reply · 2 · 5 hrs
Jenny Getsinger Hi Stan, that is exactly what I discovered three weeks ago when I re-read my diary from January 1967 (age 14) -- this is the same person thinking about the same kinds of things, reading too much, writing in my journal, and doing the same kinds of things after all these years. Not quite as thin or as inexperienced, but the inner core is so much the same. I was heartened to feel reassured rather than depressed about this surprise familiarity with my former self.
Unlike · Reply · 1 · 4 hrs
Stan Burfield Exactly! My response too!
Like · Reply · 2 hrs
Write a reply...
Norma Linder As the famous old poet said, The child is father of the man." Happy Birthday, Stan!
Unlike · Reply · 2 · 3 hrs
Stan Burfield Okay, now I understand it! Ha ha!
Like · Reply · 2 hrs
Write a reply...
Magnus Grendel Samson Coleman Classic.
Unlike · Reply · 1 · 2 hrs
Czandra Mostly yeah, I still carry a knife too, but it's in my pocket most of the time
Unlike · Reply · 1 · 2 hrs
Stan Burfield We never thought of a knife as a weapon in those days. It was for whittling with, throwing into trees, cutting branches to make into arrows, and, it's most violent fantasy, skinning a deer (which kids my age didn't think seriously about).
Like · Reply · 2 hrs
Czandra Mostly slicing apples, cheese, getting out a splinter. But mine's a jack-knife, yours was a hunting knife
Like · Reply · 2 hrs
Stan Burfield For a boy it was mostly a fantasy, to make him feel more like a man. A boy's version of a doll for a girl, I guess.
Like · Reply · 2 hrs
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Sherry Cantwell Happy birthday Stanley
Like · Reply · 26 mins
Stan Burfield Thanks, Sherry!
Like · Reply · 11 mins
Linda Eva Williams Good looking boy. But you're right: FIVE pages... and counting up from there! Too funny.
Unlike · Reply · 1 · 6 hrs · Edited
Stan Burfield I think I was maybe 12 to 14 in this photo.
Like · Reply · 6 hrs · Edited
Linda Eva Williams Is that a knife on your belt?
Unlike · Reply · 1 · 5 hrs
Stan Burfield My hunting knife. Aside from his dog, in those days a hunting knife was a farm boy's best friend.
Like · Reply · 1 · 2 hrs
Linda Eva Williams I think we should all carry at least a Swiss army knife.
Unlike · Reply · 1 · 2 hrs
Stan Burfield I have one of those tiny ones on my key chain: It has a blade, a scissors, a nail file/screwdriver, a tweezers, and even a plastic toothpick. For boys of all ages.
Like · Reply · 2 hrs
Write a reply...
Barbara Green Why? Because it's FUN!
Unlike · Reply · 2 · 6 hrs
Kathryn Alexander Happy Birthday and rebirth days too Stan, becoming a self is a life long project - enjoy this year with your beloveds <3
Unlike · Reply · 2 · 5 hrs
Jenny Getsinger Hi Stan, that is exactly what I discovered three weeks ago when I re-read my diary from January 1967 (age 14) -- this is the same person thinking about the same kinds of things, reading too much, writing in my journal, and doing the same kinds of things after all these years. Not quite as thin or as inexperienced, but the inner core is so much the same. I was heartened to feel reassured rather than depressed about this surprise familiarity with my former self.
Unlike · Reply · 1 · 4 hrs
Stan Burfield Exactly! My response too!
Like · Reply · 2 hrs
Write a reply...
Norma Linder As the famous old poet said, The child is father of the man." Happy Birthday, Stan!
Unlike · Reply · 2 · 3 hrs
Stan Burfield Okay, now I understand it! Ha ha!
Like · Reply · 2 hrs
Write a reply...
Magnus Grendel Samson Coleman Classic.
Unlike · Reply · 1 · 2 hrs
Czandra Mostly yeah, I still carry a knife too, but it's in my pocket most of the time
Unlike · Reply · 1 · 2 hrs
Stan Burfield We never thought of a knife as a weapon in those days. It was for whittling with, throwing into trees, cutting branches to make into arrows, and, it's most violent fantasy, skinning a deer (which kids my age didn't think seriously about).
Like · Reply · 2 hrs
Czandra Mostly slicing apples, cheese, getting out a splinter. But mine's a jack-knife, yours was a hunting knife
Like · Reply · 2 hrs
Stan Burfield For a boy it was mostly a fantasy, to make him feel more like a man. A boy's version of a doll for a girl, I guess.
Like · Reply · 2 hrs
Write a reply...
Sherry Cantwell Happy birthday Stanley
Like · Reply · 26 mins
Stan Burfield Thanks, Sherry!
Like · Reply · 11 mins
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