Write a Little, Say a Lot

Back at my parents' house over Easter weekend, I did what every 33 year old guy should have done ten years ago - I packed up my stuff. No, I haven't been living at my parents' home; I haven't stayed there for longer than a weekend since 2000. I've just kept all my childhood "memorabilia" tucked safely in a pile there until I found a good place for it. Or until I turned 33 and guilted myself into clearing it out. The latter motivated me to go through the pile and load up my truck over the weekend.

While sorting through it initially, I found a lot that could be trashed. Suddenly, when value is weighed in terms of the space it will take up in my own house as opposed to the space it will take up in my parents' house, certain items become expendable. MC Hammer cassette tapes, for instance. Any evidence of my junior high comb over, perhaps.

There were, however, a few treasures tucked away in boxes or totes or tins. Most near and dear to me were all the notes, letters, and cards I had kept from elementary school through college. Priceless anecdotes written in the hand of my childhood friend Josh spoke of the priorities of young boys - the girls we sat next to in class and baseball cards, most notably. "I-wish-it-meant-love-but-it-really-means-you're-bored" notes from a junior high crush were also carefully placed in an old folder. Congratulatory cards or notes of encouragement from friends and family marked my high school years. My college collection held sentiments of early love from my future wife, Bible verses and regular news from the farm from my folks, as well as assorted letters from sisters, aunts, cousins, grandparents and other friends. I had a great time shuffling through the stack, pausing here and there to get a pulse on life at the time, shuffling from one card to the next, remembering, failing to remember, and laughing a whole lot.

Those words meant a lot to me at the time. They mean so much more to me now. That collection is physical evidence of the thoughts, emotions, and sentiments of various times in my life and the life of others. They represent the fact that those people chose to use their time to sit down, write with me in mind, address an envelope, and put it in the mail. For me. I got to remember what I'm too often so busy that I forget: that some really good people have done a lot for me in my life, not the least of which is sitting down and writing me a note to show that they care. I wouldn't have remembered that without the evidence sitting in my lap while I sprawled out on the floor of the upstairs bedroom of my parents' house one rainy Saturday morning.

Here's the point. Email is great. So is Facebook. So is texting. They are quick and easy and allow us instant access to our loved ones. I had a great birthday in March, and a big part of that was all the Facebook well-wishes from people who remembered to say they cared on that day. I appreciated them this year, last year, and every other time I get to hear from somebody whether it's on a birthday or not. I'm definitely not trying to minimize that.

What I am trying to point out, though, is that email and the like is so quick and easy that we tend to forget to use it. Or we use it just as quickly as it allows, with no real time or emotion invested. When we do use them, they're just as quickly gone, lost somewhere into the digital oblivion. Notes, cards, and letters, however, have some lasting power. Not only does the recipient get to sit down and feel important immediately, they get to have that same feeling five years later and fifty years later.

It doesn't have to be much. Many of the writings I went through weren't. But if you say a little, on paper, your words will say so much, for so long.

And thanks to all those who wrote me. You made my day years ago, this weekend, and someday many moons later when I rifle through the stack again.