Hoping They Hear Me

English: Fragment of the USSR greeting card with calendar and assistant postal markings advertising zip-code writing, 1962 Русский: Фрагмент поздравительной открытки СССР с календарным и дополнительным почтовым штемпелем, призывающим указывать почтовый индекс, 1962 год (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Tonight I did something I haven’t done in a very long time, and something I’d never done before.

I read a blog post here about how nice it is to get a handwritten note or letter in the mail, and I decided that I would do the same.  I pulled out my dusty stationary and began writing a note to my mom.  It’s been a very long time since I wrote a letter to be put in the mail and sent off, even longer since I wrote one by hand that wasn’t written on the inner flap of a greeting card.

After I finished the letter to my mom, I didn’t want to stop, so I decided I would write another letter, this one to my nephew.  He’s almost 16, and his home life is pretty rough right now, and I had intended to just write him a little note telling him that I loved him and stuff, but it turned into a lot more.  I wrote to him about how soon he would be a man, and how important it was to know just what kind of man he wanted to become.  I told him to respect himself, and to respect women, even when they don’t respect themselves.  I asked him to be kind, I told him that there was always time for one more hug, and that no one ever regretted not being a worse person in life.  I told him that I loved him, and that I would be there for him if he ever needed me, and that the hard times will pass, even though they may not seem like it right now.

I followed this with a letter to my niece, who is 13, and tried to share with her how important it was that she respect herself.  I told her, also, to be kind, because there wasn’t enough kindness in the world.  I warned her not to take sex lightly, and that she would always remember what she’d done and with whom, and to be sure that it was worth remembering.  I told her that she deserved respect, and that there was nothing wrong with being a lady, and that I wished I’d behaved more like one when I was her age and beyond.  I told her that she’d probably fall in love many times, and probably have her heart broken just as often, but that it wouldn’t be the end of the world, and that it’s just a really painful way that we all have to learn how and how not to love someone else.  I also told her that I would be there if she ever needed  to talk, to cry, or just get a straight answer about life.

I told them both that they needed to take the time to decide now what type of man/woman that they wanted to be, because if they didn’t, life would take them wherever it willed, and that place usually isn’t wherever we hoped we’d end up.  If they know where they want to be, what they want to become, then their choices in life will be easier, because they’ll know what choices lead them in the direction they want to grow, and which ones do not.

I cried when I wrote them, and I’m crying now in the re-telling.  I wish, oh how I wish, that I’d listened when those words were spoken to me.

I know that when I was that age, the words of my parents that were so similar fell on deaf ears… but they were my parents.  I hope against all hope that because I’m not mom or dad, that maybe my words will have some effect on them, and that they will pay attention.

I’ve never done anything of the sort before, so perhaps the shock value will impact them too.  It’s not ‘same old’ from Auntie.  I spoke to them with honesty, and gave them the words I wished I’d listened to back when I was their age.

They’re the closest I’ll ever come to having children of my own, so it’s important to me that they are as equipped to handle life as it is to their parents… maybe more so, because I’m on the outside looking in, and I can see the bigger picture a little clearer than the immediate family unit.

I really hope they hear my words.  I really wish I had heard them, too.

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