Last year, when we were cleaning out our basement storage area, hoping to find something to throw away in order to make room for more things we will probably eventually throw away, we came across a big box of letters written to us by our daughters when we were in Panama and they were in school in the States: Elly at the University of Oregon, and Sarah in New York at the Academy of Dramatic Arts
As I read them, it became clear that we could never throw these letters away, that in fact although they weren’t terribly old, they were probably already historic documents of a sort, deserving of special storage. Here was a large collection of letters, telling the story of the everyday activities and concerns of teenagers during their first years away from home, learning to be independent.
Hardly anyone writes letters like this any more. They were frequent and long— page after page of complete sentences. And almost all of them are written in longhand—very readable and consistent cursive. Sarah had no need for a typewriter since no papers were required at the Academy (her tool of learning was a cassette tape recorder.) Elly had a typewriter, but chose to write in longhand instead of typing. The letters are truly charming, often funny, and frequently contemplative.
But I think even more important than that they represent the dying tradition of newsy letter writing is the fact that these girls were truly away from home and their parents. Today, maturing children can text and Skype and email and immediately get help, advice, or at least sympathy. Our girls had to figure it out by themselves. They could have phoned, of course, and sometimes they did, but I don’t recall too many phone calls, and at any rate a phone call is very different from the contemporaneous back-and-forthing of text messaging that young people have at their fingertips today. A letter requires a retrospective synthesizing of experience before you talk about it. Emailing and texting soon after or, for heavens sake during, an experience removes the possibility of mulling it over.
I don’t think it was necessarily a totally positive situation. Learning to fly is hard, and many times I have thought how wonderful it would have been if we could have instantaneously communicated by email. But they learned to manage—no doubt faster than if we had been available to help solve problems immediately. Both of them eventually lived in private housing and dealt with associated problems with landlords, phone companies , and the like. If they needed to go to the doctor, they just did. We learned about it later–a week or two later. Was this a good thing? I’m not sure. One thing is certain: it was different. The letters represent a period in our history before an important change in the behavior of young people striking out on their own took place.
So the upshot is that I decided not to stuff the letters back in the box we found them in but to give them storage I felt was appropriate. From my experience at the Merchant’s House Museum, I knew that proper storage of things you want to preserve, especially those made of paper, is important. So—I set about preserving them. Archival document supplies are available from this supplier
I dare says everybody has important paper objects that need to be saved and protected for future generations. Not just the obvious diplomas, birth and marriage certificates, awards, and so on, but personal letters, photographs, post cards, greeting cards, children’s drawings, homework, and recipe cards. Yes–recipe cards! Before you are tempted to put your recipes on the computer and throw away the spattered, tattered cards that tell how to make favorite dishes, read this.