One Saturday morning many years ago, I was sitting in my parents’ bedroom watching TV while my Dad cleaned out some drawers by dumping them out on the bed. I spied a small bundle of envelopes tied with a red ribbon and said “Hey, what’s this? Can I take a look?”

“Sure,” he said absent-mindedly. But as I grabbed them, he came to his senses and said “Put those down!” They were the love letters my parents had exchanged while courting.

I don’t know where those letters ended up, but if I do come across them when we finish sorting out Mom’s things, I don’t think I’ll read them. Love letters should be read only by those to whom they’re addressed.

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