Hey ***--> Little <--*** Brother,

          My companion and I didn’t get to the internet café until way late, so I got your e-mail just a couple hours after you sent it. You have a cool website, BTW. I like the track pictures. Are you going to put anything up in the section about Mormons being Christian? The link leads nowhere. When I click on the link to the church site, I get the New York Times. Uh...are you paying attention to details?

          No, I didn’t know about the accident. Sorry to hear you were driving at the time. Let me guess. Dad was in the car with you. And he was giving you, shall we say, continuous instruction. I don’t imagine it was a pleasant scene. Was it just you, Dad and Martin? You didn’t say. I hope Mom and Grams weren’t there.

          I’m totally surprised Dad would hit you. That’s pretty amazing—really! I know he comes on strong, but something else must be going on behind the scenes for him to lose it like that. Mom doesn’t tell me anything in her notes except positive stuff—the note I got from her yesterday said you qualified for Regionals and she mentioned you stayed overnight at Grant’s. I’ve always thought Mom’s notes were too positive to be believable (except the one about Dad’s business-and she says that’s getting better). She never said anything about Martin’s arm, either.

          Let’s see. Why did I run away from home? Well, I can’t tell you all the details because this place is going to close soon, but I’ll tell you a little. It was over scouting versus football. I know this comes as a surprise to you, but I was really into football in high school. But they had practices all the time and I was falling behind on scouting—not to mention my homework. Dad wanted me to drop football so I could do my scouting. It got pretty ugly. I’d avoid him and sometimes I’d sneak out of the house on Saturdays for practice and there’d be a big scene when I got home. This went on all season. That was when I was just a kid - you know, your age - so I was a sophomore then. I was a second string quarterback on the junior varsity, but then the first string guy was injured, so I was getting some playing time, and we were looking at going to State. Dad kept telling me – at high volume levels - I had my priorities wrong, so three days before State I went to live with Jared. It got ugly with Dad; he threatened to get the police involved and threatened Jared’s folks and everything, but I could only think of State. So, anyway we played and we lost and that was that. I had to make all sorts of promises to Dad in order to be "allowed" to move back in. One promise I had to make (it was not a mutual agreement—he laid out the terms and I had to agree) was that I’d get my Eagle before the next season. And so I did and then I promptly forgot scouting. And played football. Lots of it. And I hope to keep playing when I get home from Russia. I think I might have a spot on the CSU team if I’m lucky. I’m still working out the details.

          So, that’s the whole sordid story. I don’t have good memories of it, but anyway I learned how to be a "good boy" and keep Dad happy.

          Regarding your heathen persecutor, all I can say is testify, testify, testify. Don’t argue, argue, argue. Just tell him the truth and then show him you believe it and live it. It’s his choice whether to believe and it’s not Heavenly Father’s plan to force anyone to do anything.

          I don’t know what else to tell you. Specifically, I am NOT saying that you should run back home and grovel. Hang in there. Don’t let Dad force you to promise to do something you can’t do. Be nice to Mom and Grams. And, except for breaking his arm, be nice to Martin, my littlest brother.

          Love from your ***--> BIG <--*** brother, Saint Richard