sunday, june 21, 1942
dearest kitty,
our entire ss is quaking in its boots. the reason, of course, is the uing meeting in which the teachers decide who''ll be promoted to the next grade and who''ll be kept back. half the ss is making bets. g.z. and iugh ourselves sick at the two boys behind us, c.n. and jacques kocernoot, who have staked their entire vacation savings on their bet. from morning to night, it''s "you''re going to pass, no, i''m not," "yes, you are," "no, i''m not." even g.''s pleading nces and my angry outbursts can''t calm them down. if you ask me, there are so many dummies that about a quarter of the ss should be kept back, but teachers are the most unpredictable creatures on earth. maybe this time they''ll be unpredictable in the right direction for a change. i''m not so worried about my girlfriends and myself.
we''ll make it. the only subject i''m not sure about is math. anyway, all we can do is wait. until then, we keep telling each other not to lose heart.
i get along pretty well with all my teachers. there are nine of them, seven men and two women. mr. keesing, the old fogey who teaches math, was mad at me for the longest time because i talked so much. after several warnings, he assigned me extra homework. an essay on the subject "a chatterbox." a chatterbox, what can you write about that? i''d wbrry about thatter, i decided. i jotted down the assignment in my notebook, tucked it in my bag and tried to keep quiet.
that evening, after i''d finished the rest of my homework, the note about the essay caught my eye. i began thinking about the subject while chewing the tip of my fountain pen. anyone could ramble on and leave big spaces between the words, but the trick was toe up with convincing arguments to prove the necessity of talking. i thought and thought, and suddenly i had an idea. i wrote the three pages mr. keesing had assigned me and was satisfied. i argued that talking is a female trait and that i would do my best to keep it under control, but that i would never be able to break myself of the habit, since my mother talked as much as i did, if not more, and that there''s not much you can do about inherited traits.
mr. keesing had a goodugh at my arguments, but when i proceeded to talk my way through the next ss, he assigned me a second essay. this time it was supposed to be on "an incorrigible chatterbox." i handed it in, and mr. keesing had nothing toin about for two whole sses. however, during the third ss he''d finally had enough. "anne frank, as punishment for talking in ss, write an essay entitled ''quack, quack, quack,'' said mistress chatterback.''"
the ss roared. i had tough too, though i''d ) nearly exhausted my ingenuity on the topic of chatterboxes. it was time toe up with something else, j something original. my friend sanne, who''s good at poetry, offered to help me write the essay from beginning to end in verse. i jumped for joy. keesing was trying to y a joke on me with this ridiculous subject, but i''d make sure the joke was on him. i finished my poem, and it was beautiful! it was about a mother duck and a father swan with three baby ducklings who were bitten to death by the father because they quacked too much. luckily, keesing took the joke the right way. he read the poem to the ss, adding his ownments, and to several other sses as well. since then i''ve been allowed to talk and haven''t been assigned any extra homework. on the contrary, keesing''s always i making jokes these days.
yours, anne
dearest kitty,
our entire ss is quaking in its boots. the reason, of course, is the uing meeting in which the teachers decide who''ll be promoted to the next grade and who''ll be kept back. half the ss is making bets. g.z. and iugh ourselves sick at the two boys behind us, c.n. and jacques kocernoot, who have staked their entire vacation savings on their bet. from morning to night, it''s "you''re going to pass, no, i''m not," "yes, you are," "no, i''m not." even g.''s pleading nces and my angry outbursts can''t calm them down. if you ask me, there are so many dummies that about a quarter of the ss should be kept back, but teachers are the most unpredictable creatures on earth. maybe this time they''ll be unpredictable in the right direction for a change. i''m not so worried about my girlfriends and myself.
we''ll make it. the only subject i''m not sure about is math. anyway, all we can do is wait. until then, we keep telling each other not to lose heart.
i get along pretty well with all my teachers. there are nine of them, seven men and two women. mr. keesing, the old fogey who teaches math, was mad at me for the longest time because i talked so much. after several warnings, he assigned me extra homework. an essay on the subject "a chatterbox." a chatterbox, what can you write about that? i''d wbrry about thatter, i decided. i jotted down the assignment in my notebook, tucked it in my bag and tried to keep quiet.
that evening, after i''d finished the rest of my homework, the note about the essay caught my eye. i began thinking about the subject while chewing the tip of my fountain pen. anyone could ramble on and leave big spaces between the words, but the trick was toe up with convincing arguments to prove the necessity of talking. i thought and thought, and suddenly i had an idea. i wrote the three pages mr. keesing had assigned me and was satisfied. i argued that talking is a female trait and that i would do my best to keep it under control, but that i would never be able to break myself of the habit, since my mother talked as much as i did, if not more, and that there''s not much you can do about inherited traits.
mr. keesing had a goodugh at my arguments, but when i proceeded to talk my way through the next ss, he assigned me a second essay. this time it was supposed to be on "an incorrigible chatterbox." i handed it in, and mr. keesing had nothing toin about for two whole sses. however, during the third ss he''d finally had enough. "anne frank, as punishment for talking in ss, write an essay entitled ''quack, quack, quack,'' said mistress chatterback.''"
the ss roared. i had tough too, though i''d ) nearly exhausted my ingenuity on the topic of chatterboxes. it was time toe up with something else, j something original. my friend sanne, who''s good at poetry, offered to help me write the essay from beginning to end in verse. i jumped for joy. keesing was trying to y a joke on me with this ridiculous subject, but i''d make sure the joke was on him. i finished my poem, and it was beautiful! it was about a mother duck and a father swan with three baby ducklings who were bitten to death by the father because they quacked too much. luckily, keesing took the joke the right way. he read the poem to the ss, adding his ownments, and to several other sses as well. since then i''ve been allowed to talk and haven''t been assigned any extra homework. on the contrary, keesing''s always i making jokes these days.
yours, anne