How long has it been since you opened the mailbox and saw a handwritten letter from a family member, friend, or someone you used to know?
It seems the art of writing letters has disappeared. And oh how I miss it!
Rushing to the mailbox and finding a letter from an out-of-town relative, one of the 4-H friends I had scattered across the country, or a local friend who had moved away, was the highlight of many of my childhood days.
My grandmother was a letter writer, so there was always stationery, pens, envelopes, and a book of postage stamps at our house. Because my grandmother loved writing letters, she loved nice stationery. Even if the stationery didn’t have a pretty design or pretty color, if it was plain, then it had to be on fancy paper.
The most anticipated letters, the ones we waited for our grandmother to receive and then read to us, were the ones from her mother.
My brothers, cousins, and I were entranced by our great-grandmother for a number of reasons.
She wasn’t a medical doctor, but her title was Dr. Berthenia Horne, which was clearly stated on the pre-printed return address label.
She was part of the National Baptist Convention, so she traveled the world through her Christian ministry and mailed us pictures from nearly everywhere she went. One of my all-time favorite pictures is a picture of her kneeling at the monumental site of Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem. I still have that picture and I pull it out for display every Christmas season.
As soon as I was old enough to write, my grandmother started including letters I wrote in the letters she wrote to her mother. As I grew older, I began writing and mailing my own letters, which started a letter-writing correspondence that lasted until my great-grandmother’s death in 1998.
I have this same type of long-time correspondence via handwritten letters with a few others.
My brother, Tony, and I have written back and forth since I first left home for college in August 1982. Our correspondence via letters continues to this day.
My brother, Ken, wasn’t too big on writing letters, so I still have the one letter that I can remember him writing me.
I also have a letter my uncle, Archie Thomas, wrote me when he was doing a tour of Iraq during Desert Storm in 1991. I was living in Detroit at the time, and my grandmother had requested that everyone in the family write my uncle. So, I did. I was overjoyed when I received his handwritten response.
The number of handwritten letters I get in the mail has the decreased over the years. This year, I’ve only received two, and both were from my brother, Tony.