Dear Diary, it's Marilyn

Chapter 1

This chapter is more of a summary of Marilyn Monroe's childhood. It is not as interesting as I would like but it is necessary to the story. Please bear with me.

Chapter 1

My dream to become an actress started at a young age with influence from my mother and “father”.

“Norma, come sit by me.” My mother called from the small living room in our tiny Los Angeles apartment.

I was playing with my doll, the only doll I had ever called mine so far in my 5 short years. I never named the doll; she was just “doll” or “dolly”. At my mother’s call I instantly discarded the doll on the floor and ran over to sit by my mother’s side.

My mother was long past her prime in the beauty department, but to my young eyes she was neither ugly nor pretty; she was simply my mother, the woman I ran crying to when my brother pulled my hair or my sister mocked me.

“Sit on my lap, Norma.” She commanded and I did as she said. This was not usual though; normally in the evenings before bedtime I would sit beside my mother and she would tell me all about the lives of actors.

My mother loved film and theater, but more than that did she love the actors and actresses. Somehow she always knew what was going on in their lives and she would tell me all about it. She could go on for hours about Lionel Barrymore, but her absolute favorite actor of all time was the handsome Clark Gable. Her fondness of Clark Gable rubbed off on me and stayed with me the rest of my life.

“Norma Jeane, I have something to show you. I think you’ll appreciate it.” Mother smiled knowingly down at me, pinching my cheeks affectionately.

“What is it, ma?” I snuggled up to her, enjoying the warm body.

“I have a photograph here of someone very important.” I peered at the photograph in front of me. I could see a man in a suit posing. He was half-smiling at the camera and he looked remarkably like—

“Clark Gable!” I exclaimed in excitement. In my 5 year old heart, a photograph of Clark Gable was the most valuable thing I could ever hope to possess.

My mother started laughing at me though.

“No girl, that’s your father.” I had never met my father so, with the little logic I had, I put two and two together. There was a picture of Clark Gable but mother said it was a picture of my father, so that must mean Clark Gable was my father. My mother always boasted about how beautiful she was when she was young, so perhaps Clark fell for her good looks.

In my young mind the whole scenario made perfect sense and it was such a romantic idea that I never really cared who my real father was. I was perfectly happy being ignorant, as long as I could fantasize living in a perfect family with my mother, Clark Gable, and no brother or sister.

My dreams of being rid of my awful siblings came true when I was moved to a foster home.

My mother was poor and mentally unstable, not a good mother for a young girl, but I didn’t realize that at the time. All I knew was that I was being taken away from my home and I didn’t like it.

I went to go stay with the Bolenders, a middle-aged married couple. Over the few years I lived at their home, I grew fond of them. My mother tried to take me back a few times and eventually succeeded.

I moved back in with my mother, but then I was taken away from her again and moved in with a family friend, Grace.

Grace, like my mother, loved movies and the actors so we saw motion pictures often. Grace knew of my infatuation with Clark Gable so she made sure I got to see every single film he starred in.

I really liked Grace, but she got married and I was sent away to an orphanage and trust me, orphanages are not a nice place to be.

I didn’t have any friends at Hollygrove Orphanage. Then again, no one really did. Everyone kept to themselves because there wasn’t much point in getting attached to someone if they were just going to leave you.

There was a group of boys from ages 8 to 15 who caused me a lot of trouble and, at one point, sexually assaulted me. I didn’t tell anyone because I was awfully embarrassed and ashamed. I would have nightmares about it for years after and would wake up screaming. The orphanage supervisors would just tell me to be quiet.

Not many people ever wanted to adopt me. I guess it was because I wasn’t a cute little toddler anymore. After the incident with the group of boys I was a sulky 10 year old, and I wasn’t very pretty either. I had messy brown hair that was always out of control and I had lost a lot of weight so my face was lean and I looked sickly.

Eventually, once I was 16 years old, I moved back in with Grace, her husband, and their two sons and that is where my story really begins.