Wednesday, April 8, 1942
-
Dear Diary,
I may not have known what I had Monday, but believe me I know now. I have got the measles. But good. The doctor came out yesterday and said he thought I’d break out with the measles some time soon, and, brother, he knew what he was talking about. Bob Hope should see me know. I mean, I’m so attractive! So presentable! The trouble is that I don’t feel good! I’ve got fever and I’ve got bumps and I’ve got an inferiority complex. I took one look in the mirror this evening, and I still swear that it was not me (or I, if you prefer.) I look like something that shouldn’t happen to an Indian.
Muriel Windham's Diary 
- at -
Yes, that last comment is embarrassing. I guess you have to remember the times.
Certainly my mom never showed any kind of racist attitude by the time we were born. In fact, she was adamant about our enlightenment in that area. Perhaps regret for her childhood notions, inherited and absorbed from the surrounding society—we’re talking about Texas, after all!—motivated the fervent antiracism of the Muriel Brown we all remember.