Forgot I took a picture of these postcards the girls sent from our trip to LA to various friends, neighbors and family. It’s kind of amazing that the notion of writing postcards is still in their vocabulary, considering, but I suppose we’re not a very gadget-heavy household as far as the kids are concerned.
So much of their childhood is different from mine – the absence of a certain carefree innocence as dictated by how times have changed since I was a kid maybe, yet other stuff feels exactly the same too. I can see myself in them sometimes. I remember stuff that happened when I was 8. I was reading the some of the same books that Mia is reading now: A Wrinkle in Time, Charlotte’s Web, The Little House on the Prairie. I remember being thrilled at getting a piece of mail, a letter from a friend, covered in stickers on the envelope. Writing in those same black and white composition notebooks for school. Practicing the piano after dinner. Performing songs with your class up on that school stage in an auditorium which really hasn’t changed much since you went to school in the 70s and 80s. It’s all the same stuff, really.
So it’s comforting when you think about it, how some things about childhood haven’t changed in 30 years since I was a kid. I hope my kids will remember what it was like to write and receive letters and postcards when they become adults, but I wonder if they’ll be the last generation that does. I still have a a few boxes of letters that I’ve exchanged with friends over the years that date back to the 80s and 90s, back before email, back before cell phones and texting, back when it was the only way to keep in touch with friends. I pull them out once every 5 years or so and marvel at the length of those letters. I don’t know if it’s something about the medium or the length of time in between correspondences, but we used to say so much, write whole stories and put a little bit of ourselves in every letter. We shared it with no one except the person we wrote it for. I suppose we’ve adapted to how things are now, sent in truncated texts and not even writing out whole words. Can’t remember the last time I received an actual letter (and I’m not counting Christmas cards). I smile every time I see one for the girls in the pile of junk, bills and catalogs.