Letters (Nov 20)

Dudster,

My room in the 70s

Boys, boys, boys was all we were thinking about. In the summer after 8th grade I was sent to a summer camp in Switzerland. I am sure my parents paid a lot of money for me to attend. The main reason was to learn French all summer because I had flunked that class and had to take a test in September before I could pass to 9th grade.
Well, besides going to the French classes I also found a boyfriend, a French guy who was 14, same age. The best way to improve a foreign language, right?
We took walks, we held hands, oh it was so cool. And we spoke English…. So much for practice. Funny thing:  his name was Erik Schmidt, very French.

Camp was great. I have a lot of fond memories. My counselor was Karen. She was American, young, beautiful and so vibrant. She helped me to come out of my shell a bit and one night at campfire she asked me to read a poem from a note she handed me. There was no time to get all nervous about it and I stood and read it aloud.

Summercamp 1971, Montreux CH - Quote by Kahlil Gibran

We learned to sail, we played music, we made jewelry

 and pottery, we went to French class. It was a lot of fun.
After returning home, I exchanged many letters with Erik until it dwindled down into a comfortable memory.
Yes, and I passed my fall test and proceded to 9th grade.
My good grades did not last long. 10th grade was an even worse year.
More on that one later.