Perhaps it is in my genes. My name is "Schreiber" which means "writer" in German. In ancient times, families were named according to the trades and occupations they engaged in.
So it is quite possible that generations ago my ancestors were writers, being employed by fellow illiterate townspeople to do the writing for them. This usually took the form of letter writing and the writing of wills and other official documents deemed important to the person who engaged the services of the "town writer", akin to the "town butcher, baker and candle-stick maker".
It is therefore not surprising to me that I have always been more comfortable expressing myself, my feelings attitudes and opinions through the written word. It is also not surprising to me that my oldest daughter, Katrina, also possesses a love and appreciation for the written word, having recently published a book Another Day in the Frontal Lobe (Random House Publishing) , that chronicles her training to become a neurosurgeon. I am blessed with three other children, who similarly deserve their family name of Schreiber, because of their talents in writing.
Despite my foreign upbringing, I have adopted my new language of English with interest, curiosity and critical scrutiny. In my older age and after retiring from a medical career where, expressing yourself in a meaningful way to other medical professionals in writing can have far-reaching consequences to the health and well-being of patients, I have become a snob, of sorts. I am keenly aware of liberties that my friends, neighbors and family take with grammar and spelling, and I am not ashamed of correcting them or in some friendly way reminding them of the error of their linguistic shortcomings. I don't care if I am perceived as a snob.
Not long ago, I fulfilled one of my "bucket list" dreams. I took a trip along the Blueridge Parkway, through Virginia and Tennessee, a trip I highly recommend to any blue blooded patriotic American. My traveling companion, best friend and fishing buddy, John Marshall, had the forethought and insight to bring along a CD containing memorable civil war songs, music and readings. It was the perfect background entertainment as we took in the sights of the Blue Ridge mountains, Shenandoah Valley and its many streams and rivers.
I was moved to tears, listening to a reading of one of the most beautiful and touching love letters, ever written. It's author was Major Sullivan Ballou, a union soldier who, on July 14, 1861 and sensing his death in preparation for the first battle of Bull Run wrote this letter to his beloved wife Sarah. In it he expresses his deep love for her and his dedication to the cause for which he was to die just one week after writing this historic letter http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z73gl2vz3PA&feature=related. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sa2hv8U8cWU
After listening to this moving rendition of a letter that has been read and re-read thousands of times since, I realized our generations' shortcomings and inabilities to express themselves in writing. This magnificent letter exemplifies this lost art that may never again be embraced by our current and future generations. Electronic communication, such as this blog and the countless e-mails, voice mails, and other forms of digital media have virtually put the death knell to one of the most beautiful means of expression which dates back to the beginnings of our civilization.
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