I like Christmas letters. I really do. Even Bad Christmas letters. Sometimes, especially the bad Christmas letters (unintentional humor is the best). I like them because the alternative is a banal greeting card, hastily signed in order to get the cards out before Christmas. I know that for myself I would like to write personal messages to many people but it never happens. I am always running late and just want to get the damn things out. From the looks of things, I am not the only one. But I always want to know something of the sender’s past year. Often the only contact I have with them is this Christmas card and it’s nice to have something other than: Merry Christmas! Jack and Jill. Are they doing well? Not so well? Did the dog run away? How old are their kids now? Did Jack or Jill go back to school, change jobs or have a plastic surgery? Call me nosy, but if we are friends enough to exchange greetings, then I want some details. Any details. Make some up. I don’t care.
Christmas letters have gotten a bad rap and with good reason. Most people simply aren’t good writers. There is the bragging letter where the writer’s life is absolutely wonderful, their children are exceptional and wildly successful, they’ve traveled extensively and their life is better than yours in every single way. Then there is the other extreme where people write about every woe in their life starting with their gallbladder surgery and anal fissures and ending with their thrice divorced daughter and jailbird son. Most letters fall somewhere in the middle of these extremes. And mostly, they are full of basic information, names, ages, activities, which if you haven’t talked to some one all year, is interesting enough.
One of the worst letters I’ve ever read was simply a chronological list of all the trips the writer and his wife had taken that year. That’s it. Nothing else, no funny anecdotes at the airport or updates on children or grandchildren. Just a list. As if anybody cares about someone’s itinerary. The whole point of a Christmas letter is to share something yourself and while I suppose sharing one’s travel history is something, it’s not very personal and therefore not very interesting.
The best letters I’ve ever read were from my friend’s mother. She truly is the Queen of Christmas Letters and my idol. Her letters always broke the one page rule but for her, it worked. In fact, as a reader I was always disappointed when they ended. What made them so good? They were real and they were hilarious. She didn’t talk of trips or make lists. Instead she told stories about her life and slipped in the requisite information around that. After reading her letters, you not only knew where all her family was and what they were doing but had tears in your eyes from laughing so hard.
Granted, not everyone is this talented. In fact, most aren’t. I like Christmas letters just the same. No matter how good or bad the letter is it tells me something about the writer and his or her family. You learn what’s important to them, or at least what’s important enough to put in a mass letter. It might not be scintillating stuff—or better yet it is, for those who have boundary issues—but it beats a pre-signed Christmas card any day. At least I know what happened to the dog.
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