Pen & Paper A Grandfather Urges His Granddaughter To Not Substitute E-Mail For The Joys Of A Written Letter

My Dear Mandy,

Not long ago you made a statement to me in your usual 10-year-old child-like innocence. You had no idea your casual reply to a question I asked would have such a profound and thoughtful effect on me.

We had just finished dinner and I was reading a letter to you from your grandmother who now lives hundreds of miles away. It was a beautifully handwritten letter, one that I knew had been written with love and care. This was easily determined just by looking at the flowing scroll.

As the letter ended she stated, “It would be nice if one of you older children would write grandma and grandpa a letter. We miss you all a lot since you have moved to the United States from Canada.”

When I looked up from the letter, I said to you, “Mandy, you should write your grandparents a letter.” The response I got was quite surprising and a little upsetting when you said, “Oh, I’m not going to write them grandpa, I’m going to e-mail them very soon.”

I immediately thought, “Please God, don’t let our computer-oriented society take away, from one so young, the pleasure of writing and receiving a handwritten letter from a friend or loved one.”

Mandy, you must realize, a letter is not really a letter unless it comes in an envelope. An envelope always holds the element of surprise. You know at once who it’s from by the familiar handwriting on its face, but the message inside remains your secret.

Your letter didn’t come over a machine that everyone in the family has access to, especially your snoopy brothers and sisters. You know as you rush to your quiet place, envelope in hand, that its message will be yours and yours alone. The cold, dark, even print of an e-mail letter will never allow you the luxury of this warm feeling.

An e-mail letter does not allow a doting grandparent one of life’s great pleasures, the mental image of a grandchild struggling with small hands and a dull pencil, working to put his or her thoughts on paper. Occasionally their tongues may even peek out between half-clenched teeth as they tackle this grown-up task. Somehow a child sitting at a computer, all prim and proper, does not paint the same heartwarming scene.

So Mandy, please don’t e-mail your grandmother a letter. Write her one instead. Let your fingers grow tired and cramped with your efforts. She will then know it’s a special gift from you, one that she and Grandpa can share. For after she reads it, she will place it next to his morning coffee. He will smile when he notices your new form of grown-up handwriting, the loops and curls in your pen strokes showing just a hint of your blossoming femininity. He will view your new writing skills with mixed emotions, proud of your letter’s new mature look but a wee bit sad, realizing his little granddaughter is growing up much too fast. I feel the same way.

I remember so well the letters I received from your grandmother when I was in the Army. They were the one bright spot in my life during this trying time. I would often chuckle over her misspelled words. It would have been disappointing if she had had a spellcheck, for each one of her mistakes was so much like her.

It made me feel that I must have been put on this earth just to protect and shelter this fragile woman whom I loved.

It was easy to imagine her face turning a warm red as she struggled over each mistake, knowing it was wrong and feeling more and more inadequate because of it.

I had assured her over the months that I had been gone that these mistakes only made me care for her more. I explained to her I didn’t love her for her spelling but for so many other reasons.

It took some time, but she finally believed me. I could tell because her letters became more like the woman I had grown to love even more during our long separation.

I never would have tucked an e-mail letter in my helmet. For it wouldn’t have came with an envelope scented by her favorite perfume, a pleasant odor that reminded all of us of the girl back home.

The envelope was always sealed with the faint imprint of her lipsticked lips and initialed S.W.A.K., meaning it had been sealed with a kiss. The sight of this envelope in my sergeant’s hand at mail call always made my heart beat a little faster.

Her letter would be taken from my helmet and read many times before it was discarded. This never happened until her next letter was received.

Besides, the places where we were receiving mail were not what you would call computer friendly, if you know what I mean.

So Mandy, please do not forsake the art of handwritten letters. Besides grandparents, someone else may be disappointed.

For someday you may have a loved one far away who will be waiting patiently for a letter to tuck into his helmet, a letter that is sealed with a lipsticked kiss and scented with your favorite perfume, misspelled words and all.

Love you, Grandpa Jim