A letter

1972.  My parents were on their first summer mission trip with adults and teenagers from First Baptist Church, Lee’s Summit.

The ten-day trip meant that my sisters and I were farmed out to grandparents. I spent that first weekend in Adrian with G-ma Blocher, then was handed off to her sister, my sainted Aunt Esther, for the remainder of the trip. (For several summers thereafter, I went to stay with Aunt Esther for a week, just because I loved her and I loved being her.)

Apparently I was collecting pennies in 1972, and working on getting a full set of Lincoln pennies. G-ma ran a greenhouse, and I ransacked her pennies on site. I remember this, and I remember my happiness at finding some of the World War II pennies that were steel.

From Columbia, then, staying with Aunt Esther and Uncle John, I ‘typed’ a letter to my parents.  

This appears to be the earliest letter I ever wrote. I was three days shy of eleven years old.

And for the record, today is the 111th birthday anniversary of G-ma Blocher.

The envelope is telling.  The letter was posted and postmarked the same day from Columbia, and sent to my parents in New Mexico, where it was apparently received in due course during that same six-day work-week.  Who today would post a letter on Monday afternoon and have expectation that it would make it that quickly?

The letter was amongst my father’s belongings when we sorted them last year.  I’m glad to have it now, and perhaps not as grumpy about his packratism as I was at first after he died.

And I’m glad I write gooder now.

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