Other times, it can simply be interesting, even entertaining.

Then there are the times when it is little more than divisive, delineating positions in an argument that has no chance of being resolved. That’s not the fault of the letter-writers, but these are the occasions when the recipient — the editor — should exercise discretion.

In retrospect, I think I let the letters about the true meaning of Christmas go on a little too long. It’s clearly an issue people care about, and thus deserving of some presentation. But once we had someone writing to say the religious nature of the holiday had been hijacked, and someone responding about how people could celebrate the season without the religious overtones, well, that pretty much covered it. Various manifestations of the same positions followed, and several more were printed.

Youth combined with a degree in journalism can be intimidating. Reporters are trained to ask tough questions and wait patiently to hear the whole story unfold.

I knew one answer wasn’t really what this reporter was after. He wanted to hear tales from my past. I didn’t want to disappoint the group, but on the other hand, was this really the time and place to tell all?

“I attended my first rock concert at 14 when I saw The Beatles at the Hollywood Bowl in August, 1964,” I began. “I couldn’t hear a thing because of all the screaming, but I saw them in their matching suits looking just like they did on the Ed Sullivan Show.

“During high school I went to see Elton John, the Righteous Brothers, the Supremes at the Coconut Grove and some jazz greats down on the pier in Redondo. Sonny and Cher and the Kingsmen played at Junipero Serra, an all-boys Catholic high school where my friends and I went to Friday night sock hops.

Some of us have been forced to let go of youth and admit we’re middle aged. It’s the only possible explanation for the paunch and wrinkles, since they’re not attributes of budding youth.

Others have had to choose what sort of elders we want to be, since we now are. I can guarantee that if we don’t make conscious choices, we’ll end up looking ridiculous, like middle-aged band groupies. Unless we make some choices, we could become pompous, redundant old folks. If we choose wisely, we’ll still be redundant but we can avoid the pomposity.

On the fashion level, I understand that most women make a fashion statement. Their clothes are often intended to reflect a personal or professional status they wish to attain. The power suit, the understated elegance, the athlete. They also accessorize, using jewelry and artfully arranged scarves.

After two years in divorce court, I decided it was time to see a therapist.

Family thought it might help with my anger problem toward my ex-husband.

The therapist suggested I write letters but don’t mail them.

I had thought my angry texting and e-mails were working very well for me.

But I am not the “professional.” I did what she asked, and despite the “writer’s cramp,” I wrote on. It must have worked because I stopped the dirty looks toward him in the courtroom. I felt so relieved to have actually gotten rid of my anger.

Timed passed and I found myself in family court yet again, along with so many other mothers, many of whom I had seen in divorce court. I just didn’t care about them. Now, here we were, pleading to the court for more child support. Father after father claimed little to no income. The judge asking them the same questions over and over. “How are you paying rent? Bills? Food and expenses?”