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.





NaBloPoMo November 2015

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