Chuck Jones’ letters to his daughter, Linda

# 11 Post: (Part Two)

Knowing this I want you to try your best to make a go of this school.  I want you to give it an honest, fair try.  I believe you are doing just this.  I do not believe I am telling you anything you are not already doing. 

Frankly, I know you are disappointed, I know that we all expected too much.  It was pretty naïve to expect perfection.  It was fairy-tale-like not to know that [a magazine article] would accentuate the positive. 

Frankly, I know that you are homesick, as I am homesick for you. 

Frankly I know that you are lonely and that you will remain so until your acquaintenceships solidify.  It is even possible (but not probable) that all the tings that seem so strange now will gradually become the familiar, even that fantastic schedule will lose much of its sting as you set-tle into it.

You know, I hope, that there is nothing in the foregoing that indicates any need for you to put up with the unbearable.  You are not sentenced to anything. 

I am soliciting your confidence, reasonable or unreason-able.  I am assuring you that you have my perfect confi-dence, my undeviating respect and of course my deep and un-troubled love.  There is no situation, this or any other, that cannot be changed by simply telling me that, in your considered opinion, it should be changed.  You don’t have to explain.  Believe me too, darling, nothing is worth bearing up under just because it cost a lot of money.  That’s like stuffing down a large unpleasant dinner just because it was expensive and because you’ve already paid for it.

[to be continued]

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