Dear Friend,

I must have been busy. Even if I was, it's a lousy excuse. At best my inaction was a simple oversight in a child's life filled with lots of things to do. At worst it reveals a selfishness in my personality that I must strive to overcome. If it had only occurred one time you could call it a fluke, but three times might be more of a trend than I'd like to believe. I refer to my failure to respond to letters that were written by people who could have become friends, if I'd only put pen to paper.

The name perfectly describes the relationship status; pen pals. I don't recall if I was in sixth or seventh grade but one teacher invited us to write a letter that told a little bit about ourselves, our families, a typical day and other general things about our lives. We sent these letters to a clearing house of sorts and someone there would forward the letter to someone they selected. I remember being very excited when I received a reply from a girl my age who lived in Iran.

She was very surprised to hear that an American boy was not interested in bombing her country. She found that my life seemed very normal and it made her happy that I was more interested in playing with friends than destroying another country. She told me a little about her life and she even mentioned worries about political turmoil with her neighbors in Iraq. I still think that I actually wrote a return letter, but I have no memory of having sent it. Instead of a potential friend, she remains a stranger whose name I can't recall.

A few years later I got a second chance and my letter ended up in the hands of a young woman named Lara. She was from somewhere in Italy. I remember that she liked to ski and that she was excited to learn more about America and our customs. Although I kept the letter, I studied, went to work, hung out with friends and did other things that teenagers do. What I didn't do, was mail her a letter back. So today as I looked for that letter to see if I could include more details and maybe even find a Facebook connection, I found a third letter.

While living in Spain I met a girl named Ana who was visiting from Switzerland. I believe I only met her once, but she sent me a letter that she started to write on November 24, 1986 and ended on December 7. When I discovered this letter I couldn't even imagine who this person was until I read the letter. Her sister is now a real life friend after she remarried and moved to the United States. Once again I have discovered a lost opportunity to make a friend, but this time I might have a chance to make amends and discover the rest of the story.