IT'S true, and it’s a shame, that most people don’t write letters anymore. They would rather express their feelings through text messaging, social media forums, blogs, or Facebook posts. Exchanges or interactions become faceless or impersonal or temporary. And very few, if none at all, had bothered to regard the power and longevity of written words.
Years ago, whenever there’s a chance to talk to their children, people were sometimes disappointed because they didn’t know how to communicate exactly what they wanted to. So they resort to letters. Some hand-written letters were often so beautifully composed and simply inspiring that people love to keep them in their personal files. Love letters, or friendly letters, or letters of a parent to his or her child, always carry sweet reminders of the feelings that had long been gone.
Sometime before, when I thought of something to say to my kids, two sons and a daughter, either a parental advice or an expression of joy or frustration, I would type it in my computer and save it for my own sake. I would tell them whatever they needed to hear or learn from me. Later this would motivate me to write my own letters to them. They were too young to read the written words then, so I decided to start writing to them in a journal and hope that the proper time will come to have what I’ve written handed to them, and have them understand how I felt about them and the circumstances of their growing up years.
That was long before I started blogging, and a couple of years before I opened my Facebook account and having my kids added to my circle of FB “friends.” If I had this kind of outlet early, I would have written differently and post them there.
I wasn’t able to continue writing the journal, and after more than a year, I stopped writing an entry because of my work load (it was the same year I enrolled in law school and become a regular contributor of a local literary magazine). My journal, which was written in loose leaves, was in total disarray and buried deep in my personal files before I retrieved it some months ago. My kids have grown now; my firstborn is a year short of completing his secondary education, my second now in grade seven, and my last child in grade three. Cancer had claimed their mother about two years earlier.
Just recently I spotted in a blog a wonderful collection of letters of well-known authors writing to some of their favorite people—their children. Inspired by the fatherly tone of the letters, my mind floated about ten years back. So I dug into my letters, unsent letters actually, that I write to my own children. So for this post, I decided to print here a sample of my letters, one for each of my children. It’s for them to read now, and here’s also to prove that it isn’t really hard to write a letter to your own child when you don’t expect them to respond. Perhaps you may want to write letters to your own son or daughter. It is never too late to start!
September 1, 2004
Dear Eya,
I saw you walking in the street as I leave the house
early this morning to go the office. You were with your yaya, Apong Andang, who
patiently taught and guided you in your steps. Since you’ve been an early riser
just like us, your yaya had made walking and hopping on the street your early
morning routine, which I think are good for your tender legs. You seemed to
enjoy walking back and forth on that short stretch of our street fronting our
house. And this morning, I was surprised to see you walking so fast, not the
usual duckling gait, and your feet were steady and your body almost upright. It
was actually a sprint that you were showing me this morning. And, of course,
that familiar sweet innocent smile written on your radiant face—so pleasant to
look at going with the first glow of sunshine. You were just meters away from
the house when I called your attention. You darted towards me, shrieking with
joy, unmindful of your yaya’s attempt to hold you less you fall on the pavement.
I hugged and kissed you goodbye, also as a part of our routine together. It was
a mistake that I called you when I should have allowed you to enjoy walking
with your back on me. Your lovely smile turned into a frown, then into a cry,
as I started to go away from you. You no longer waved your little hands as you
were trained to do when someone’s saying goodbye. This is the hardest part of the
morning before I go to work, when I leave my little baby girl behind in its worst
mood. But I must go.
Dad
February 4, 2005
Dear Dudoy,
You lost your snack box again. It was like those
crayons, rulers, and pencils that you had never brought home from school after
only a day or two of use. Your Mom had always been reminding you about keeping
your things—and all your toys—in their proper places after use; but you seemed
to easily forget a simple reminder as this one. As expected, your Mom was angry
this morning, but I wasn’t. First I could no longer do anything about your lost
snack box, and I think another reminder would not just be enough. Perhaps your
mind was focused on your school work that you failed to keep your things in
proper order. Or perhaps a bully might have grabbed your things from your bag
without you knowing it. Somebody would soon find your snack box and return this
to your teacher, who in turn would give it back to you. I’m sure your things
had been properly labeled by your Mom when she gave them to you at the start of
the school year.
Lately, I realized it was a terrible mistake to hit
you for every infraction that you commit. I have hated myself for shouting at
you sometimes. I have learned my lessons, and as regards your case now, I think
there are more important things than your forgetfulness or carelessness to
consider. When I reprimanded you for every wrong you did, I was not necessarily
imposing the right discipline, but my own kind of discipline, or by the way I want
things to be. My seemingly good judgment, however, is sometimes affected by a sudden surge of emotion.
It seems natural for a father like me to see to it
that what I told you to do would be accomplished the way I want it to be. But
instead of counting the usual 3, now I make it up to 10. I rather look at the
reason why something cannot be done, and I would dwell on that before finding a
solution. I think it paid off well recently. I’d read a story in the second
installment of the book Chicken Soup for
the Soul about a father who punished his son so harsh for destroying his
garden. The mother had this to say: “We’re raising kids, not flowers.” Soon I
come to terms with myself. I don’t want a lost snack box, crayons, etc., to be a
reason for you to be punished severely or a reason to lose your respect on me
or your Mom.
When your Kuya N-yel left his P.E. uniform in your
school the other day, I didn’t say anything bad against him. I even told your
Mom to talk to your brother about making a more serious search in school
tomorrow—to ask his teachers or his classmates about it. If they could find it
after a hard search, fine. It not, we can just replace it. A simple
nose-to-nose conference with you or a brief reminder would suffice for now
about your lost snack box. A lost snack box or a T-shirt would cost us around a
hundred pesos or more for a replacement, but you and your brother, are
priceless.
Dad
March 8, 2005
Dear N-yel,
I was alarmed days ago when I saw your left ear with
smudges of dried blood. You might have harmed your ear drum by inserting your
index finger or an object. You do that every time you feel uneasy with your
ear, a habit recently grown worse. This would explain the number of used cotton
buds you have thrown under the bed and in some corners of the house to keep
them away from your Mom. If this would turn out to be serious medical problem,
you might become deaf. And it bothered me so much to think of you having a
physical disability. When you were sill in your Mom’s womb, I was so much
concerned of your condition, thinking of how a disabled baby could become a
lifetime nightmare of every expectant parent. Only then I realized that every
baby born healthy and complete is always a cause for celebration, in high
gratitude to God.
But the fear has not left me, even after the crucial
first seven years of your life. What if you meet a mishap, a fatal fall or a
vehicular accident, or swallowed a poisonous substance—all these might cause
you losing permanently some of your motor skills or senses? That can really scare
the shit out of me! Your Mom also feels the same way, though she is more
hysterical in actual situations.
I remember when you were a baby, we almost lost you
to diarrhea or dehydration caused by amebiasis. Sometimes when you feel pain
in your stomach, or you have loose bowel movements, we easily blame that on
these parasites that might have remained in your body to this day. Now, we
always see to it that you only drink clean water at home. Keeping you healthy
and complete, and so with your siblings, is always my utmost concern, more than
what my pay check can give me.
Dad
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