Letters from camp 1970

I am still in the arduous but interesting process of sorting through a huge box of letters, mostly written between my mother and her sister, but others to my father during the war (more about that later) and some from and to me. I guess I learned from my mother that what one does with these things is put them in a box and store them in the attic. I found the letters I wrote from camp. They were worth keeping and they revised my recollection. I thought I was miserable from day one until the end. Enduring homesickness, hiding tears, reading Jane Eyre ("how do you pronounce Eyre" I asked in my first letter) and suffering through playing awful sports in searing heat. That is all I remember. But in fact, according to the letters, the homesickness was fleeting and I had fun a lot of the time. My poor parents! They were all set to pick me up early, after they enjoyed their vacation in Lake Placid and Queechy Lake without me. Then I wrote more anxious letters begging them not to come early.

Day 2's is so funny, I'll copy it here:

Dear Mommy and Daddy,
I hate to spoil your vacation but you'll have to come and get me. I'm dyeing of homesickness. It's not the camps fault or the counselors they're both really great. It's just that I can't bear being away from home. It's even worse than last year because its 4 weeks. I am sick to my stomach of homesickness. I feel like killing myself for being mean to you. You could make up some excuse that I could tell the girls I'd be embaressed to tell the truth and they're all so nice. I've started crying, I just can't hold it in. So tell me when you can get me, because you have to, I've tried every method in the book but it is just inevitable. Your homesick and loving daughter, xxxx. (in the margin, with a musical note, "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.") Then. P.S. This is later. I reopened the letter. At the moment I'm having a good time. I don't know what to do. Call me up.

Mr. Crackles thought it was hilarious and said I hadn't changed a bit. That is disturbing, because it sounds to me like he is taking my mother's attitude, that I'm "Sandra Bernhardt" a term she always used, which suggests that I'm exaggerating for effect and that is not true. I am deeply feeling what I feel and doing my best to express it so that others may understand. No one ever really does, it is still apparent. Hmph.