My seven-year-old son pushed a much-folded sheet of paper into my hand. "I wrote a letter to dad at school today. Will you give it to him when he gets home?"
"Sure." I tucked the letter into my jacket pocket.
My son ran off to play with his brothers. At first I just sat on the front porch step and watched them bike round and round the driveway, but after a few minutes, curiosity tickled. I unfolded the letter and began to read:
Why do you do your job every day? Is it because we need mony to buy food? Is it because we need mony to survive? Is it because we need mony for clothes? Anywaies I like school this year.
"Mom," my son interrupted. I glanced up to see him standing in front of me. He looked very serious and a little hurt. "It isn't polite to read other people's mail."