Billy's Letters
 
 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

Wil Stark, wstark04 (at) pobox _dot_com

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