You know what kids these days won’t have? A box full of handwritten notes to uncover one day. I guess I’m known as one of those “geriatric millennials”—you know those of us born in the early to mid-80s. Where are my other fellow geriatric millennials at?
We folks who grew up with an analog childhood without the internet or cell phones, but at the same time experienced the emergence of AIM, MySpace, and Facebook (which came out while we were in college and was originally intended for college kids). Remember? Yes, I may or may not now find the sound of dial-up internet nostalgic—anyone else?
Growing up, we couldn’t text one another or send Snaps, but that didn’t mean we young people weren’t communicating. Oh no, we were always communicating via the handwritten note. A tangible piece of paper we would actually write on, imagine that? Now I sound like one of those old people proclaiming, “Back in my day . . .” but I guess maybe I am?
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We would write our special messages during class while we were supposed to be taking notes for our actual class. We would pass our notes while we changed classes in the hallways. Or shove them into our friends’ lockers through the vents. Or sometimes we would be creative and have secret hiding places where we would leave our notes for our friends to find.
Some of us even went as far as creating code names. Code names for ourselves and anyone we referenced in the notes—hey we were creative and didn’t want to risk being mortified depending on what was within said note. My friends and I weren’t the only ones who did this, right?
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I haven’t opened my box full of notes in years. But, as all women in their mid-30s at some point do, I’ve been binge-cleaning and organizing. And to my surprise, I found these priceless folded treasures. I read through some and was instantly taken back to my teenage years. The memories started flooding back, and whew, also a tinge of sadness.
Sadness that the years of handwritten notes are long gone. Sadness that we geriatric millennials are the last ones to experience the bliss of a technology-free childhood. Sadness because the handwritten note is an art that has been lost. Maybe forever?
Originally published on the author’s Facebook page