My Friend, Margaret

Shy and withdrawn, I entered the classroom already in progress. After being introduced, I took the empty seat at the back of the sixth-grade math class learning about different shapes. Several were on the green chalk board showing angled degrees. Unfamiliar with the equations and the names of the various shapes, I felt lost and alone. Sixth grade was a hard year for a variety of reasons, from being the new girl in town, missing out on education due to multiple moves each year, and being removed from my mother’s care, my changing body added to my long list of reasons for feeling awkward. Given the degree of isolation I found myself in, deciding to read Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume at the suggestion of the school librarian was the best thing I could have done for myself at that time.

I found a friend in Margaret. We were the same age with similar problems, yet very different. Margaret found herself bouncing through various emotions from anger at her parents for moving her to another school system, sad to lose her friends, alone in a new town, and then awkward as she met neighbors her own age. She found herself unfamiliar with topics discussed in a new club that only young girls going through body changes find themselves in.

When Margaret stormed off angry at her parents, I found myself storming off with her, for I was angry with my parents as well. I cried with Margaret when she was sad over the loss of her friends, for I had just lost a few more in the long list of moves I had endured over the years. When Margaret was alone, I comforted her, for I was just as alone. As Margaret began to make new friends, I hugged her by holding the book to my chest, for about the same time I made my first friend in this new town. While Margaret learned about her changing body, I understood her emotions and confusion as I had just experienced some of the same things. There were many emotions that drew me towards Margaret, and she and I became the best of friends.

When Margaret was confused about which religion she should belong to, I was busy praying for her clarity. I not only prayed for Margaret, I prayed for myself and for my family. I prayed that I would never again see the bad man my mother had brought into our home, the one we no longer lived in. I prayed that I would never see him again whenever my mother came for visitation. I prayed that my mother would leave him and that we, my siblings and I, would be able to return to our mother someday. These were ways in which Margaret and I were different, for she had a stable home life and no siblings to worry about.

I worried about my siblings. Being the oldest of my mother’s children, I was relied on for their care while our mother worked second shift. Seeing my mother two evenings a week after school and before bed was not long enough to gain any kind of life instructions from her. I started watching my younger siblings when I was nine years old. My mother thought she was leaving us in the care of that bad man, but I knew differently. I knew he drank while she worked. He often made advances towards me no girl that age should endure. He fell asleep many days, leaving me to look after the others. I did not care that he slept. In fact, I was happy when he did. Unfortunately, it left me in charge more than I should have been without my mother’s knowledge.

When Margaret wondered if God was there, if he would answer her prayers, I knew how she felt; for I had wondered if God had heard my prayers as well. I wondered if God heard my prayers for the abuse to end.

My responsibilities at home changed the day my siblings and I began living with our great-aunt after being removed and court-ordered away from our mother. Our father was not in the picture as our parents had divorced many years earlier. At eleven, I found myself suddenly without my motherhood role of looking after “my children.” Since my siblings were more like my children to me than siblings, I found that I associated with Margaret in another way. I understood what it was like to be an only child even though I really wasn’t.

Margaret was not just a friend. She was a lifeline. She extended her hands to me when I needed them the most. And because Margaret was such a good friend, staying by my side, I eventually bought my own copy of the book and carried it with me wherever I went. Margaret kept me company over and over again, filling the void of loneliness in a way that she never imagined she would.

When Judy Blume authored the book, she was writing to eleven-year-old girls going through their first change in life. What Judy may have never imagined was that she would give one lonely girl with a lot of responsibilities a reason to cling to life and hope for a better future, while also hoping to embrace the same kinds of friendships that Margaret found. What Judy Blume never imagined was that Margaret and her friends would become my friends too. I am forever grateful to Judy Blume for writing the book Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret.