As I casually rummaged through the day's unopened mail of bills and magazines, I was finally awakened by a thick, golden envelope. It was the mischievous, yet friendly yellow envelope of Publishers Clearing-house waiting patiently at the bottom of the pile. In the front window of the package my name was spelled out in big, bold letters - a sure sign I would be the next winner. My eyes widened with excitement, and I quickly tore open the envelope like a child searching for the prize in a cereal box. Inside I found papers sprinkled with dollar signs. There were color-coded stickers which were to be placed in their proper homes to indicate the continuation of this world-wide gamble. I could not refuse, the thought of winning so much money tasted so sweet, the same way a fresh box of ribbon candy tastes at Christmas time.

I completed the tasks asked of me - the stickers were placed exactly where they were supposed to be and the designated boxes were confidently checked. I didn't even wince as I licked the bitter glue of the envelope; thoughts of whom I would share my winnings with consumed all my senses. I gave the package one last look before sending it on its journey. Everything was intact, it was out of my hands, now I could only dream.

As I walked back home I thought of how I would answer the door when my oversized check arrived. I would swing open the door to a sea of brilliant colored balloons of red, yellow, and blue. Camera lights would flash from all directions rewarding me with my 15 minutes of fame. Then I opened my eyes to realize I was not the only American to take this traditional pilgrimage to the post office. Only one can win, but nothing is wrong with being rich with hope. 1