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. He 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,
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.
Sally Gates, Concerned Parent