PSU Magazine Winter 2001

hen I was a kid, it wasn't Christmas until Uncle Ted's fami ly letter came in the mail. He lived on a dusty almond orchard off Interstate 5 in central California. My sisters and I were usually inclined to bicker, but every winter we stood arou nd Mom and Dad to examine Ted's signature array of rubber stamps, ka-chunked in deep blue across the enve lope. Our favorite was a little bald man who looked just like Ted, stand– ing, legs akimbo, pointing at his head. Above was a great big light bu lb. Per– sonal encouragements to everyone, individually, were hand-typed across the gummed edge. While we'd usually rip it open and roll on the floor at what passed for amusement 50 miles south of Modesto, the year cousin Wendell died we cried over Ted's sim– ple prayer. It was tacky, tender, and goofy even, but Ted always made each of us feel like a loving family no matter how far away or how seldom we met. And that is the whole point, according to Susan Poulsen, assistant professor of speech communication. Imper onal and silly as they sometimes seem, holiday letters play a key ro le in strengthening America's particularly far-flung family ties. In some ways, they even define them. According to Poulsen, holiday fam– ily letters have circulated in the United States for at least the past 50 years. They were mass-produced on