The Diary of a Young Girl

I just re-read or read (I can't remember) over the weekend Anne Frank's diary. And as usual am so bursting to think and laugh (for at any rate I can't cry now) that I have been speaking of it for the past few days.
I find so much treasure in the musings of a child who is becoming an adult, perhaps because I am still so immature as well. I adore and admire the Frank family's studying--Latin, French, English, (Dutch&German), History, musicians--(they definitely couldn't play any music), art, philosophy, Mr. Frank's Dickens and english dictionary, everything. The adorableness of Margot being a genius and wanting to teach and be a midwife in Palestine--how mature and idealistic she sounds! And Anne's whole rants about her poor Mom and pathetic Mrs. Van Daan, and how she feels guilt but right about her quarrels with her mom with all the paradoxical emotions. How she loves her Dad, how she gets in the one fight with him over the boy, and how sweet he is to care for her and shed tears and burn her horrible letter! Then finally the silly boy she idealizes and who disappoints. It is the quintessential teenage "coming of age" story with just the right scenario of just a few characters in just a few years of such a confined space. It is odd how reality can become so Dickens (everything fitting together) in such odd circumstances. Perhaps in my old age I've become much more sentimental for the tiny bits of "real life"--not fights or romance--but what makes life precious: the family reading and studying together, the nightly prayers, the kind friends and holiday celebrations, the tears of reconciliation, the snuggling with family, the birds in the morning, the crazy fiascos of favorite history notes getting wet and hanging them to dry, the quirky bathroom hoggers, the shelling beans and chatting--all the love of kindness, affection, love of learning and sharing, faith, and hope.