By the middle of June letters began to arrive from all parts of the country. I was ecstatic, and diligently wrote correspondence in return. After a passage of a month or more, the letters from new pen pals dwindled in number, and I was able to establish firm postal relationships with many individuals. In all, I had received over 50 letters; and to my agitation, one phone call from a nitwit who claimed that he wanted to be a "phone pal." (NO thanks). Although I responded to all letters except one, which was from a guy desiring a full-length photo of me in a bathing suit or shorts, some never wrote again or so infrequently that I was uncertain who actually lost interest first. However, these partings did not bother me since I still wrote regularly to over 20 people and that number alone kept me running to the post office for stamps and buying paper on a grand scale. The business of writing letters became an outlet for creativity and self-expression which, at that point in my life, I needed very much. While one's circle of friends changed with one's interests and values, pen pals were sufficiently detached from the prejudices of the immediate atmosphere and therefore became friends at a safe distance to whom feelings could be written without the usual fear of confidentiality. Actually there were only two or three pen pals with whom I shared any depth, for many desired only to speak about their boyfriends and favorite things to eat, and refused to rise above the superficial acquaintance afforded by one page letters and a 15 cent stamp. Expectations and needs varied with these individuals, just as they did within local relationships. Some needed only a correspondent and others, a confidant; the duration of mutual interaction via post depended on the compatibility of these aspects. I wrote "Definitions" on May 10, 1976; it captured a bit more introspection than some of my writing. Definitions Dreams are like the eagle When it is in flight, Plummeting down a mountainside Or soaring out of sight. Success is like the sky When clouds roll away And beckon to the sun To brighten up your day. Failure is a shooting star Which hurls itself around And makes a crater in your heart, Crushing spirits to the ground. Birth is like a flower As its' leaves unfurl, Rendering its' love for God To city, country, world. Death is like an endless night To those who don't believe, Cloaking them in darkness, The old to the naive. Lauren Isaacson 9th Grade 1976 May 16, 1976... I went to church with K... just Sunday School, tho'... Man, I thought our class didn't pay to much attention and those guys threw stuff, wrecked Bibles and everything. K. dropped me home around noon. I was real depressed for some unknown reason.