When we were young, my mother would tolerate only two days of freedom post-Christmas — i.e. Christmas Day and Boxing Day — before she was hitting us hard with our required thank-you lists and the obligatory smiley thank-you letter to each person, that should read something like this:
Dear Great Aunt Maud,
Thank you so much for my latest jigsaw. I love it so much (lie) and I look forward to my new one from you every year (bad lie). The weather has been perfect for jigsaws (wet), and even Mummy has been wanting to help me with the jigsaw (another lie).
We hope you are feeling well and look forward to seeing you very soon (white lie).
From,
Lucy
It was not enough that we say, “thank you for my gift” or even “thank you for my lovely gift.” Oh no, we had to describe what it was and how much we liked it. Art and creativity were encouraged on the page (which created a great audience of eye rolling and sighing at the time). It was a formality I knocked out quickly back in the day, so that I could get on with my life and away from my mother’s wagging finger and annoying persuasions. I can still see mother and her list being carefully checked off.
When my daughter was of an age, I did exactly the same thing but with more emphasis on a nice drawing assisting the letter-writing (she was such a cute little artist). She knew the rules and was pretty compliant on the whole, but I had to play my part by paying attention when she opened gifts and documenting who the generous givers were. Then I needed to buy the stamps, pop the thank-you cards in the post, and it was only then that I could check that little chore off my list.
But now I’m the older lot, I understand it, I really do. I always remember who thanks me from the younger generation and whether they actually seem to recollect what I gave them. You have taken the trouble to think about the person and what they might like as a gift, you have gone shopping and purchased said item, taken it home and wrapped it — in some cases shipped it, in addition. It is quite the process to deliver that gift from your kindly brain to the Christmas tree of a loved one.
And I’m not sure that I’m doing it anymore. My darling granddaughter is 11 years old. We delivered her birthday gifts to her in December and spent her birthday evening with her, taking her out for sushi, her favorite dinner, and making a lovely big deal about her, and just her, at a hotel with an indoor pool where we had a sleepover. Not a thank you in sight. We delivered obscenely generous bags of presents for Christmas to her and her baby sister at their house, also a couple for their parents. Did we get a thank you — even a text? Did anyone send us a card? Am I being old-fashioned and petty? I don’t think so.
Somewhere along the line, the generation we raised has forgotten to say please and thank you. Maybe it is because we allowed it? Maybe, in the past, we said thank you for them because life was so chaotic; but I think it’s past time to make a stand. This level of entitlement for our continued generosity has me feeling stone cold about my thoughtfulness in the future. I could easily just send them a text saying, “checks for both college accounts are on the way.” Save me a lot of bother, time, money, angst….
My daughter feels the same way. Having been raised under the “no playtime until you’ve written your thank-you cards template,” she always thanks people to this day, and I believe we should all make the time to do just that. Even a text or email is acceptable, though a nice handwritten card goes much further. My daughter delivered a framed photo to each person who sent her a wedding present or card, and I thought that was incredibly nice — also excessive. Months later, she’s still working on her thank yous!
Etiquette has slipped way back in my estimation, and we are all the worse for it. Communication skills have slipped. Language is often an abomination of abbreviations with no punctuation, just funny little images, or lower-case letters in a row that, as an avid reader and writer, you are supposed to understand. When I text my granddaughter, I have to be ready to get my red corrector pen out, as it were. “I know, right!” as her response to an observation from me comes across as “ikr”… took me a while to figure that one out. Correct spelling is optional apparently in the texting world and, as a writer, I can honestly tell you it hurts my eyes and my heart. “Oh grandma,” she tells me, “we don’t learn to write in cursive.” Like, what?
In supreme contrast, my 96-year-old father emailed me a lovely long thank you on Dec. 27, snuggly within the obligatory two-day grace period for thank yous:
Dear Lu,
A triple thank you … for not only sending me three parcels, but each with its own Christmas card. The first included timely robin napkins which decorated our table here when the family came over.
Reverting to presents … we opened chocolates from Adnams Brewery that were appropriately boozy and rich, though we could not tell the difference between those said to be laced with pink gin and those with whiskey. No matter, they are delicious. Thank you!
Then your sister arrived with the last parcel from you, a very fine green top from a firm that chose the name Weird Fish. This top is a good companion for another green top that I still wear throughout the winter. It was your husband’s and I borrowed it from him on a foggy cold day in Prunedale, maybe 30 years ago. Perhaps I should now return it to him.
Lucy, thank you once more for all your cards and presents.
Much love,
Dad
Now that is more like it — a newsy, funny and superbly written appreciative thank-you letter from the older generation! And what are we to do with the generation below us and the one below them. Is there any hope? Please share your thoughts with me — I am a little beside myself as to how to move forward.
