We don’t get a lot of mail. To be honest, the mail carrier rarely slows down in front of our gate. So yesterday, when I saw the glimpse of white through the slot, it was already a surprise. But then to see my name…this was something! Not only had the letter traveled across the ocean, it transported me back in time to when I was six.

It was never lost on me, this beginning each letter with “Dear,”  — because certainly it must be, I thought. From the moment Mrs. Bergstrom taught us the salutation, all I wanted was to write a letter, and what would it be like, (I barely could let myself think of it) to receive such a letter…to know that you were in fact, dear. 

I don’t recall the cost of stamps. I barely understood the value of money, other than the quarter I received each Thursday for doing my weekly chores. I’m sure it didn’t come as a surprise when I told my mom that I wanted to forgo my allowance until I had enough to buy some stamps. She smiled and opened her purse. She unlatched the coin pocket and pulled out a stamp. She was glorious, I thought (and that didn’t come as a surprise either)!  

Not fully understanding how it worked, I wrote my first letter to the one I found most dear, sealed the envelope, licked the stamp, put it in our mailbox and raised the flag. It was the only address I knew, having memorized it before riding the school bus for the first time. I watched the mail carrier pull up to the boxes in front of our house. He put the car in park so he could retrieve the letter. He looked at the address, then saw me out of the corner of his eye. He smiled. Put down the flag. And placed the letter back in our mailbox. 

I paced the driveway nearly the entire afternoon waiting for my mom to return from work. She stopped at the mailbox, pulled the envelope to her chest, and before opening, she knew she was dear.