The Collected Diaries of Donald J. Trump: Chapter 5: “1958: Big Boy Pants”
That’s what I’ve decided to call you. The name just came to me from someplace, like a thunderbolt. Not sure where it comes from, but I like the sound of it. Kitty. Maybe from “Miss Kitty,” a character in my favorite radio show, Gunsmoke? Unclear. No matter.
I am writing this first-ever entry in my journal which is what it is, okay? It is not a diary and I really don’t like it when Dad makes that noise like a coughing sound when he sees me with you, Kitty, and my large purple pen. “Telling all your secrets in that diary of yours?” he says. And I say, “No father this is not a diary!” and remind him that diaries are for girls and journals are for boys and I am a boy.
I am a boy.
And also: If he hates it so much why did he give me a journal for my birthday, anyway?? Good question!!
Anyways, Kitty, here’s what’s happening in my (our) life. I wasn’t planning on making a big deal about turning twelve this year (!!!) because I’m already considered very mature for my age. Most of the grownups in my life already consider me a man in many ways. I shop at Big Boy stores already which according to my mother who doesn’t lie is because I’m growing quickly and is not because of the other thing that the kids call me, mostly the poor ones who are trash anyway according to my mother who knows and which I will only mention once, Kitty, and then never mention again:
Okay, so, please go on: I wasn’t going to make it a big deal but then one of my teachers who I really think is more like a friend because as I mentioned I’m thought of as very mature for my age, which is why I spend recess etc. with the teachers instead of with the other children who are very immature and not nice to me, said, “Gracious, Donald, did you ever think that maybe if you had a birthday party it might be a good way to make some friends?”
So, Kitty, guess what? Guess what? I asked Dad and he said, “Yes!” but of course he didn’t just say yes, I had to promise to learn a sport (yuck!!) but we are having a birthday party!!
The boys in my class may not realize it yet, but I will remember all of their names and someday they will regret the moment they all decided in a very mean and coordinated effort to tell me in no uncertain terms that none of them would be coming to my party.
I had envelopes made and everything.
I am very angry, Kitty, about all of this.
Solution to the party problem! It came to me! Kitty, sometimes I surprise myself! I was sitting quietly in the dark, in my bedroom closet, eating the Baby Ruths I keep there for my quiet personal time, and it came to me. I will tell everyone in the class that Casey Stengel will be at my party because he is a very close personal friend of mine and if they want to meet him they had better be nice to me. They will believe this because, as I have mentioned, I am very mature for my age and most of my friends are adults.
No surprise! The mean boys changed their minds and are now coming to my party. I wonder what caused that???!!!
No, actually, Kitty, I don’t wonder because I know exactly what did it. It was Casey Stengel.
Now I just need to figure out how to contact Mr. Stengel and get him to appear. Yankee Stadium is not too far from Queens.
I think if I explain the entire situation to Dad he will instantly “get it” and help me get the Yankees’ famous manager here to the house in time for cake and ice cream. Are the Yankees playing on Saturday?? Need to investigate.
Still very upset in re: yesterday’s “party,” which was not the first-class experience I was expecting and, frankly, was promised by the various adults in charge. I spent most of the day carefully compiling a list of the boys and girls who made such an immature big deal about not meeting Casey Stengel who is only the manager of the Yankees and who were disruptive and rude during my magic act. I know that I shouldn’t have lied about Casey Stengel, Kitty, but I still do not understand why some people are not nice to me.