There was a time pre-cell phone, pre-FaceBook, pre-Zoom, Snap Chat and Twitter when people actually communicated by writing letters. Well, actually, it was even pre-telephone for most folk, especially in my family and those around me in the small southern town where I grew up. Letter writing. What a concept.
Some portion of Sunday afternoons following church and Sunday dinner was always spent in writing letters. My mother to her sisters and I to whatever boy I had recently fallen head over heels in love with (usually during the summertime). It was a special time, a quiet, reflective time and one savored by most who did it.
My mother’s letters would be catching up her sisters and sisters-in-law on my latest achievements and silly antics or my father’s progress with recuperation from a paralyzing accident. Her letters to one aunt in particular reported what the previous day’s “number” had been and whether or not she could expect to receive a money order from my mother later in the week if my aunt had “caught the number.” Of course, by mid-week my mother could expect to receive a letter from my aunt instructing her on what number to play for her on the coming Saturday. Letter exchanges between these two were frequent and informative. I recently found a letter from my aunt to my mother listing long gone and previously unknown to me relatives. I treasure that letter.
Letters to boys were filled with adolescent dribble about love eternal and whether or not we would be able to see each other at the next church convention or if I would get to join the cheerleading squad and see him during the upcoming football or basketball season. Needless to say, the content of these letters was always hidden from my mother because dating wasn’t allowed. There was one boy I remember who wasn’t considered an eternal love. We were just friends. We wrote philosophical letters back and forth as we each expounded on our personal interpretations of the Bible.
We also wrote thank you letters, considered a must after every birthday or Christmas gift, or anytime anyone had done something special with you in mind. The letter was more than the scripted Hallmark message, but one that truly expressed your appreciation for whatever the recognition. Of course, birthdays were always remembered with a card and a note inside.
The best part of the Sunday letter writing experience was the short walk to the mailbox a few blocks away. I could collect my good friend on the way and gossip more about boys and whatever was the latest about some other school chum. We also got to stop in the corner ice cream parlor and get an ice cream cone for the return walk home. I remember letter writing with great fondness.
When was the last time that you wrote a letter to a friend? A real letter. Not a text. Not a “like.” Not a tweet. But a real letter. Psychologists say writing letters can be therapeutic, bringing together the body, mind and spirit. Not to mention that it provides an opportunity to practice and improve one’s handwriting.
I get at least five email messages daily about the Trump desire to close the post office. The political effort to close it should definitely be opposed. But the US Post Office was in trouble long before the present attack. So, here’s something else that we can do in addition to signing a petition. Let’s all pitch in and help give the post office a financial boost and save postal workers’ jobs. Let’s write a letter to a friend and mail it through the USPO.
Bet you don’t even know how much a stamp costs these days.
RADIO GILLIE 