May 8, 1765 Dear Diary,
It has been almost three months since the Stamp Act was passed. I could never forget the day it was. March 22, 1765:
I came home that day, and my parents were already fighting. “THOMAS!” my mother yelled. “I’ve had enough of this conversation! We can talk about this later!”
I don’t think they saw me walking in, so when I set my books on the table, they were startled.
“Oh! Laura! You scared me! I didn’t even hear you walk in!” Mama exclaimed.
“What were you guys talking about?” I asked out of curiosity.
“Laura, you don’t need to worry about any of this stuff.” Papa replied. It looked like he was hiding something. Now I really wanted to know. “Papa, I’m twelve. Can you please tell me?”
After some more pleading, Mama and Papa gave in, and told me what was going on.
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“How could I forget?” I thought. Papa had to go to war when I was small. It started in 1754, I wasn’t even born. After I was, Papa left only a few months later. He came back every once in awhile, and then finally, the war ended. “Well, we need to help pay the cost of the defending American Troops. That’s why the Stamp Act was passed. Every time we use paper, send mail, or anything like that, we need to pay for it. If only we had the right of freedom from the British.” Papa sighed. The way he said ‘British’ was enough to know that he had had enough of them. Now, everyone was finally gathered around the dinner table. Papa wanted to share something. He was waiting until everyone was finished with their dinner. Even from before he started to speak, I knew what this was all about. Like I said, all we ever talked about was the Stamp