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March Fifth
Dear Mr. Trustee,
Tomorrow is the first Wednesday in the month— a weary day for the John Grier Home.
How relieved they'll be when five o'clock comes and you pat them on the head and take yourselves off!
Did you (individually) ever pat me on the head, Daddy? I don't believe so— my memory seems to be concerned only with fat Trustees.
Give the Home my love, please— my TRULY love. I have quite a feeling of tenderness for it as I look back through a haze of four years.
When I first came to college I felt quite resentful because I'd been robbed of the normal kind of childhood that the other girls had had;
but now, I don't feel that way in the least. I regard it as a very unusual adventure.
It gives me a sort of vantage point from which to stand aside and look at life.
Emerging full grown, I get a perspective on the world, that other people who have been brought up in the thick of things entirely lack.
I know lots of girls (Julia, for instance) who never know that they are happy.
They are so accustomed to the feeling that their senses are deadened to it; but as for me— I am perfectly sure every moment of my life that I am happy.
And I'm going to keep on being, no matter what unpleasant things turn up.
I'm going to regard them (even toothaches) as interesting experiences, and be glad to know what they feel like.
'Whatever sky's above me, I've a heart for any fate.' However, Daddy, don't take this new affection for the J.G.H. too literally.
If I have five children, like Rousseau, I shan't leave them on the steps of a foundling asylum in order to insure their being brought up simply.
Give my kindest regards to Mrs. Lippett (that, I think, is truthful; love would be a little strong)
and don't forget to tell her what a beautiful nature I've developed.
Affectionately, Judy
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