I'm in the middle of your chapter of confession, "On the Rainy River." I find your confession actually fairly odd, I was expecting something a little more dramatic. I mean, yours is pretty dramatic, but I expecting you committed like the mother of all things that one could do. It's interesting that you are so ashamed of attempting to run away from the war. If you were my son I would understand or at least try to, and as a parent I probably wouldn't try and stop you. But I do understand your thoughts of thinking that people might think that of you.
One thing in particular I took to the bank from reading this chapter is: to thank those you might not have a chance to thank ever again. Just like with you and the old man from the lodge you stay at. I know what you're talking about when you want to thank those people that didn't even know they helped you out, and I think sometimes those are the most important people to thank. It's just a funny little thing that I think people don't recognize that much, that is: those people who we don't take much notice of or don't even know, and are sometimes know the most about us or help us in an unexpected way.
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