Soup Or A Stamp
When I was a fifth grader at the St. Joseph the Worker Detention Center, Sister Mother Mary Comestome, requested we find a pen pal from her approved list of school aged participants from around the world. I noticed a girl who lived in Korea was on the list and since my father fought beside them to fight the commies, I chose her. Shockingly, I never heard back from Joon. I'm not sure when I realized my faux pas. It didn't stop me from writing letters, however. When my bestie moved away during our first year in high school, we wrote back to each other for ten years, sharing our deepest thoughts and experiences. When I began, one stamp cost 8 cents. I usually nabbed a few from my parents who had a roll of stamps. I don't think Dad, who worked for the post office got a discount, but we always had a supply, plus, he was my conduit to sending off my letters. I must have had hundreds of letters saved. Writing letters was how we stayed in touch with family. My father wrote in his...