Letter on the Wall

When I was a little boy, I shared a bedroom with my late elder brother. On the wall next to the bed, hung a framed-letter given to my brother by my dad. I don’t think the letter was personally written by my dad, but it was given to my brother nonetheless.

The letter was mounted on the wall directly above the bed - I suppose the idea was that the letter would be a constant and daily reminder of the message it carried. I’m not exactly sure whether it was my brother or dad that had decided on where to hang and display the letter, but whatever the case - there hung the letter on the wall, day in and day out, for many many years.

I remember how, as a young boy, I would climb on the bed and try to read out and make sense of the contents of the letter. I did not consider that as a violation of privacy because the letter was, after all, publicly displayed in a room I shared with my brother. For many years, the letter hung on the wall until it became part of the furniture, and I eventually got bored  reading it, even though my English vocabulary had since improved.

Yesterday I woke up with a bit of nostalgia for a lot of things, and that letter came to mind but for the life of me, I cannot remember what it said. And it has being bugging me that I can’t remember the contents of the letter. (And to think that the letter was not even addressed to me).

That letter is no longer on the wall. I don’t know why I’ve been thinking of that letter, but whatever it is, it prompted me to look online for something similar, and that’s where I stumbled on this book.

Letters to My Son by Kent Nerburn promises to be a very good read, if the online reviews are anything top go by. I’ll give you my feedback once I’m done, or perhaps before then…..