My mother doesn’t text. She has no use for spell check, autocorrect, or any AI tools.
Her messages are sent in ink, a jarring jumble of cursive letters and punctuation marks.
A typical letter to me may begin, “HI! How are you We miss you DAD and me and WE REALLY LOVE YOU!!”
Even though the exuberant sentiments are sweet, I struggle to suppress the urge to edit them. I’m a word nerd with deep convictions about spelling (yes, I’ll silently judge you if you don’t know the difference between their, there and they’re), punctuation (use exclamation points sparingly - one is enough) and font choices (don’t even get me started on Comic Sans).
English is my mother’s second language. As a Taiwanese immigrant, her written English skills are limited, which makes it even more poignant when she reaches out to me with handwritten personal messages in my native language and not hers.
Once, my mother sent my sister a care package during her freshman year of college. Mom worried how she would adjust to college life and being away from home. But the card Mom attached to the package made my sister feel worse. It said, simply: “We loved you.”
When I was in graduate school, Mom mailed letters to me, mainly to keep the long distance phone bills low during a time before smartphones, texting and unlimited data.
One of her notes told me to keep my spirits high and not be sad. Next to her words, she had drawn a crying face. Seeing the tiny blue-inked person with tears falling down its cheeks made me laugh out loud. Mom was decades ahead of all of us with her homemade emojis.
The stationery she used was often a surprise. I imagine it’s because Mom would get so excited to put a thought down that she’d immediately reach for whatever paper was nearby. She was just as likely to use stylish letterhead as she was to use the back of a bank deposit slip.
At the Chinese restaurant where she worked, Mom had a gift for relating to people from all backgrounds, it seemed. To her, this was an essential skill. In Taiwanese, she explained, it is part of “how to make a person.”
For most of my life, I didn’t understand this. But now I deeply appreciate my mom’s ability to channel her immigrant grit and grace to understand people and make them feel at home. She taught me that kindness and compassion matter more than impeccable spelling and grammar.
When she connects with someone, it is authentic – unabashed and unmistakable. | 
