When I was sixteen, our English teacher made every girl in class write a letter to a soldier overseas. “Nothing dramatic,” Mrs. Callahan told us. “Just tell them about home.” Mine went to a boy named Eddie Walker from Kentucky. I didn’t know what to say, so I wrote about Sycamore Grade School, my mother’s peach pie, the maple tree outside our kitchen, and how Mr. Henley’s rooster woke the whole street every morning
When I was sixteen, our English teacher made every girl in class write a letter to a soldier overseas. “Nothing dramatic,” Mrs. Callahan told us. “Just tell them about home.” Mine went to a boy named Eddie Walker from Kentucky. I didn’t know what to say, so I wrote about Sycamore Grade School, my mother’s…
