Immortal Words
The Source
Who wouldn’t like to be immortal? Come on, be honest . . . isn’t there something inside of each of us that we’d like to be remembered long after we’re gone? Some folks work hard to do this. They put their names on buildings, underwrite charitable foundations, strive to create works of art that will last through ages, or make themselves Supreme Ruler of North Korea. Most of us settle for an even nobler goal of investing our lives in future generations…our families, our friends, our students. But as we enter the new year, let me suggest a simpler way to achieve a bit of immortality…write a letter. Yes, people have written letters since the first Egyptian carved his likeness in stone or a cavemen scratched out, “Am fighting tiger. Will be late for supper,” on the dust of his hut. But with the advent of email and Facebooking, the handwritten letter is fast becoming a rare bit of memorabilia . . . something that just might be kept . . . something that may give you a leg up on immortality. This morning I heard of a new book coming out featuring the letters of Ernest Hemingway. They provide a valuable insight into the mind of a man who changed the face of American literature. Were Hemingway alive and writing today he’d likely use email and those emails would eventually be deleted. He wrote in a different style to his mother, his father, and to his son. A biographer noted that in writing to his mother his handwriting was always impeccable. Perhaps the most famous author of his time was still thinking about mama looking over his shoulder to make sure his o’s were rounded properly. Without the written word on a piece of paper, many of us would become ashes in the trash bin of history . . . one of those skinny branches on a fourth-graders “My Family Tree.” I often wonder what we’d be missing if Shakespeare used texting. “2B R not 2B.” But a letter . . . well, some of them last. Stuck inside the front cover of my bible I have a letter written by my grandmother. Actually, it’s just a note on a faded blue card. She’d written it to my mother who was in the hospital with my newly born brother Keith. Grandma advised mom to take her time coming home because, “Kenny seems to be happy and doing well.” Those are the only handwritten words I have from Grandma. I’m glad she didn’t text. Forty years of teaching have allowed me to receive a nice load of letters from students and former students. The emails are now deleted. The letters are tucked here and there all over my house. The frayed notebook paper and scribbled cards may not exactly be immortal, but they’ll last as long as I will. There’s something about a hand-written letter that says, “Do not delete.” You have them too . . . the thank-you’s, the well-wishes, perhaps even the love letters . . .snatches and bits of immortality tucked inside books and bibles and bottom drawers. Just think how relatively little effort they took create in comparison to the way they have lasted. USA Today conducted a poll recently and found that only 30% of parents insist that their children write thank you notes. This increases your chances of immortality. We are living in the last generation on earth that will write letters. I haven’t seen your schedule for this evening so I don’t know what you have planned. Perhaps you’ll watch a re-run of Pawn Stars or Oprah and within a week you’ll forget what you saw. Maybe you’ll do a bit of shopping for items that will be eaten up, used up, worn out or tossed aside within the month. Maybe send an email or text message, which will be deleted as soon as it’s viewed. Perhaps you’ll even have a face-to-face conversation with someone that will slowly sink into the irretrievable recesses of your brain’s gray matter until you can no longer remember exactly what was said. Let me give you a little advice on immortality: Write a letter. You don’t need an earth-shaking reason. Grandma’s note to Mom was nothing more than an “I’m thinking of you,” sentiment. No doubt she had a morning filled with plucking chickens, washing clothing, picking tomatoes, and keeping an eye on a two-year-old who was intent on crawling into the pen with Grandpa’s Hereford bull. But she wrote, and in doing so she became immortal.