The following appeared in a computer magazine in Mr. Dvorak's column

Dear Mr. Dvorak:

        Ann Landers wouldn't print this.  I have nowhere else to 
turn. I have to get the word out. Warn other parents.  I must be 
rambling on. Let me try and explain.  It's about my son, Billy.  He's 
always been a good, normal ten  year old boy.  Well, last spring we 
sat down after dinner to select a summer  camp for Billy.  We sorted 
through the camp brochures.  There were the usual  camps with 
swimming, canoeing, games, singing by the campfire you know. There 
were sports camps and specialty camps for weight reduction, music, 
military camps and camps that specialized in Tibetan knot tying.  I 
tried to  talk him into Camp Winnepoopoo.  It's where he went last 
year. (He made an adorable picture out of painted pinto beans and 
macaroni). Billy would have none of it. Billy pulled a brochure out 
of his pocket.  It was for a COMPUTER CAMP|  We should have put our 
foot down right there, if only we had known.  He left three weeks 
ago.  I don't know what's happened. He's  changed.  I can't explain 
it. See for yourself. These are some of my little Billy's letters.

Dear Mom,
        The kids are dorky nerds.  The food stinks.  The computers 
are the only good part.  We're learning how to program.  Late at 
night is the best time to program, so they let us stay up.
                 Love, Billy.

Dear Mom,
        Camp is O.K.  Last night we had pizza in the middle of 
the night. We all get to choose what we want to drink.  I drink 
Classic Coke.  By the way, can you make Szechwan food?  I'm getting 
used to it now.  Gotta go, it's time for the flowchart class.
                 Love, Billy.

 P.S. This is written on a word processor. Pretty swell, huh? 
It's spell checked too.

Dear Mom,
        Don't worry.  We do regular camp stuff. We told ghost 
stories by the glow of the green computer screens.  It was real neat. 
 I don't have much of a tan 'cause we don't go outside very often.  
You can't see the computer screen in the sunlight anyway.  That wimp 
camp I went to last year fed us weird food too. Lay off, Mom. I'm 
okay, really.                     Love, Billy.

Dear Mom,
        I'm fine. I'm sleeping enough. I'm eating enough.  This is 
the best camp ever.  We scared the counselor with some phony worm 
code.  It was real funny.  He got mad and yelled.  Frederick says 
it's okay. Can you send more money? I spent mine on a pocket 
protector and a box of blank diskettes. I've got to chip in on the 
phone bill.  Did you know that you can talk to people on a computer?  
Give my regards to Dad.                    Love, Billy.

Dear Mother,
        Forget the money for the telephone.  We've got a way to 
not pay.  Sorry I haven't written. I've been learning a lot. I'm real 
good at getting onto any computer in the country.  It's really easy! 
I got into the university's in less than fifteen minutes.  Frederick 
did it in five, he's going to show me how. Frederick is my bunk 
partner.  He's really smart.  He says that I shouldn't call myself 
Billy anymore.  So, I'm not.
                   Signed, William.

Dear Mother,
        How nice of you to come up on Parents Day.  Why'd you get so 
upset? I haven't gained that much weight.  The glasses aren't real. 
Everybody wears them. I was trying to fit in.  Believe me, the tape 
on them is cool.  I thought that you'd be proud of my program. After 
all, I've made some money on it.  A publisher is sending a check for 
$30,000. Anyway, I've paid for the next six weeks of camp.  I won't 
be home until late August.
                    Regards, William.

        Stop treating me like a child.  True -- physically I am only 
ten years old. It was silly of you to try to kidnap me.  Do not try 
again. Remember, I can make your life miserable (i.e. - the bank, 
credit bureau, and government computers). I am not kidding.  O.K.?  I 
won't write again and this is your only warning. The emotions of this
interpersonal communication drain me.
                    Sincerely, William.

        See what I mean? It's been two weeks since I've heard from my 
little boy. What can I do, Mr. Dvorak?  I know that it's probably too 
late to save my little Billy.  But, if by printing these letters you 
can save JUST ONE ...CHILD from a life of programming, please, I beg 
of you to do so.  Thank you very much.

           Sally Gates, Concerned Parent
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