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 Letters from Summer 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,
an 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 spell-
checked too.

Dear Mom,
Don't worry.  We do regular camp stuff. We told ghost stories by the
glow of  green computer screens.  It was real neat.  I don't have much of
a tan because we don't go outside very often.  You can't see the
computer screen in the sunlight anyway.  The wimp class 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

Mr. Dvorak inadequately replied: Come on, Sally, boys will be boys.