Subject: TGIF.....Billy's Letters .... (fwd)
Date: Fri, 24 Jul 1998 165548 -0500 (CDT)
From: "Roy L. Beavers" <rbeavers@llion.org>
To: emfguru@hotmail.com
--------------------------------------------------
Thanks Peter.......
---------- Forwarded message ----------
Date: Fri, 24 Jul 1998 22:49:13 +0200
From: Peter Heindl
Reply-To: "
To: Undisclosed.Recipients@netactive.co.za
Subject: Billy's Letters ....
You might enjoy this one !
Best regards - Peter
------- Forwarded Message Follows -------
BILLY'S LETTERS FROM CAMP
The following appeared in a computer magazine in Mr. Dvorak's column:
Dear Mr. Dvorak:
Ann Landers wouldn't print this. I have nowhere else to turn. I
have to get the word out. Warn other parents. I must be rambling on.
Let me try and explain. It's about my son, Billy. He's always been
a good, normal ten year old boy. Well, last spring we sat down after
dinner to select a summer camp for Billy. We sorted through the camp
brochures. There were the usual camps with swimming, canoeing, games,
singing by the campfire -- you know. There were sports camps and
specialty camps for weight reduction, music, military camps and camps
that specialized in Tibetan knot tying.
I tried to talk him into Camp Winnepoopoo. It's where he went last
year. (He made an adorable picture out of painted pinto beans and
macaroni). Billy would have none of it. Billy pulled a brochure out
of his pocket. It was for a COMPUTER CAMP! We should have put our
foot down right there, if only we had known. He left three weeks ago.
I don't know what's happened. He's changed. I can't explain it. See
for yourself. These are some of my little Billy's letters.
Dear Mom,
The kids are dorky nerds. The food stinks. The computers are the
only good part. We're learning how to program. Late at night is
the best time to program, so they let us stay up.
Love, Billy.
Dear Mom,
Camp is O.K. Last night we had pizza in the middle of the night.
We all get to choose what we want to drink. I drink Classic Coke.
By the way, can you make Szechuan food? I'm getting used to it
now. Gotta go, it's time for the flowchart class.
Love, Billy.
P.S. This is written on a wordprocessor. Pretty swell, huh? It's
spellchecked too.
Dear Mom,
Don't worry. We do regular camp stuff. We told ghost stories by
the glow of the green computer screens. It was real neat. I
don't have much of a tan 'cause we don't go outside very often.
You can't see the computer screen in the sunlight anyway. That
wimp camp I went to last year fed us weird food too. Lay off, Mom.
I'm okay, really.
Love, Billy.
Dear Mom,
I'm fine. I'm sleeping enough. I'm eating enough. This is the
best camp ever. We scared the counselor with some phony worm
code. It was real funny. He got mad and yelled. Frederick says
it's okay. Can you send more money? I spent mine on a pocket
protector and a box of blank diskettes. I've got to chip in on the
phone bill. Did you know that you can talk to people on a
computer? Give my regards to Dad.
Love, Billy.
Dear Mother,
Forget the money for the telephone. We've got a way to not pay.
Sorry I haven't written. I've been learning a lot. I'm real good
at getting onto any computer in the country. It's really easy! I
got into the university's in less than fifteen minutes. Frederick
did it in five, he's going to show me how. Frederick is my bunk
partner. He's really smart. He says that I shouldn't call myself
Billy anymore. So, I'm not.
Signed, William.
Dear Mother,
How nice of you to come up on Parents Day. Why'd you get so
upset? I haven't gained that much weight. The glasses aren't
real. Everybody wears them. I was trying to fit in. Believe me,
the tape on them is cool. I thought that you'd be proud of my
program. After all, I've made some money on it. A publisher is
sending a check for $30,000. Anyway, I've paid for the next six
weeks of camp. I won't be home until late August.
Regards, William.
Mother,
Stop treating me like a child. True -- physically I am only ten
years old. It was silly of you to try to kidnap me. Do not try
again. Remember, I can make your life miserable (i.e. - the bank,
credit bureau, and government computers). I am not kidding. O.K.?
I won't write again and this is your only warning. The emotions of
this interpersonal communication drain me.
Sincerely, William.
See what I mean? It's been two weeks since I've heard from my
little boy. What can I do, Mr. Dvorak? I know that it's probably too
late to save my little Billy. But, if by printing these letters you
can save JUST ONE CHILD from a life of programming, please, I beg of
you to do so. Thank you very much.
Sally Gates,
Concerned Parent
Archive provided courtesy of WaveGuide, http://www.wave-guide.org
Reprinted with permission of Roy Beavers, http://www.feb.se/EMF-L/EMF-L.html