Good things come in coloured envelopes, but only Boomers know that

It was my birthday recently and even though I’m a big girl now, I looked forward to skipping to the letterbox and pulling out a clutch of birthday cards on the day. Just like I used to.

Sitting in the box were two Aldi brochures, a Jim’s Mowing ad, an acorn, and a card from my neighbour, covered in smiley faces. And that was it.

Sending birthday cards is no longer a thing, sadly.Credit: Getty Images/iStockphoto

Maybe everyone had nicked off to Bali for some sun. Or was it Australia Post’s dodgy new delivery schedule? I know the supply of cards in newsagencies is shrinking. And that thinking up pithy birthday messages takes time, as does handwriting. Maybe, just maybe, I’m not as popular as I was in grade 3. (OK, I did share lamingtons with the rest of the class.)

The main reason, I know, is that sending birthday cards is no longer a thing. If you’re lucky, you might receive an e-card or an online message thanks to Facebook nudging your friends to send you one on the day. It’s quick and clean and a little bit soulless. And how are you going to decorate your mantelpiece with that?

I can’t escape the sad conclusion. Unless it becomes a fad – like old LPs – or handmade cards personalised for younger generations take off, the birthday card is on its knees.

Nothing shows this more than websites like Paperlust instructing the uninitiated how to write a birthday card. Having covered such basics as when to send a birthday card (um, on birthdays?), the website drops other pearls: “To whom are you writing?” it asks. “Use the name you normally call them and match the tone you’re intending to take with the card. If you always call your brother ‘Bobo’ and the card is intended to be light-hearted and funny, address him that way! There’s no rule that you have to call him ‘Robert John’, and this will sound a little strange unless it’s part of a serious message about how he has overcome hardship in the past year ...”

Bobo indeed.

Baby Boomers may be the last generation on earth to exchange birthday cards. And when we finally shuffle off, the paper card will seem as mystifying as black holes in the heavens. I know, I know. Boomers are spoilt brats – we got to see the Beatles live, we went to uni for free (thanks Gough!), we bought too many investment properties (thank God), and we really did wear flowers in our hair. But we did some nice things for each other, too. Like marking the birthday of our mates with a pen and good wishes.

A 2020 headline on Reddit from someone called Unpopular Opinion says: “Sending a birthday card in the mail is basically sending trash to another person.” The writer goes on: “I’m talking about walking into a store, hitting up the card section, scribbling in the card, and then sending it to someone. It is an old tradition that needs to die. It is wasteful and no one cares about your stupid Hallmark card. It goes in the recycling 2 weeks later.”

No one cares about your stupid Hallmark card? OK, if you just write “Dear Kate” above a schmaltzy printed sentiment, and sign it, it does seem a bit hollow. But there’s so much more to the traditional birthday card. It’s the process, the effort, the history, and dare I say the love (or liking) that goes into it.

The birthday card offers you as sender the chance to handwrite something special to your mates that you may not have the guts to tell them face to face. According to Wall Street Journal contributor Amanda Foreman, Augustan poet Horace came up with a corker for his friend, Maecenas: “[Your birthday] is almost more sacred to me than my own birth.” I love this, especially the “almost”. It just gives everyone a feel-good fuzzy feeling.

If the sentiment inside sends tingles down your spine, hanging onto birthday cards is like being the custodian of sweet slices of history. At the end of your life, when things get foggy, you can live it all over again through your ready-made memoir pile.

Who you played with at school, who came to your 21st, the quaint way your half-Scottish mum used to express herself – “Oodles of love, cherub”.

A cultural insight. If you were lucky enough to be a Boomer kid, you’d know that good things came in coloured envelopes and, occasionally, aunts and uncles would slip in a $5 note to spend on a couple of Archie comics or Westons Wagon Wheels (they used to be humungous) or potato cakes (so did they). And that it was much cooler to feign surprise at a fiver landing in your lap than shaking the card in a frenzy of hope.

When I turned 12, an uncle included a $20 cheque in my birthday card. This was huge. I was told to go into the local bank and ask if I could cash the cheque. Who needed a trainer bra to feel this grown-up? I handed it to the teller to be cashed. “Howdja like it?” he asked. “It was great, thanks!” I said. How could he possibly know it was a gift from Uncle John?

If keeping a pile of cards causes grief, as Unpopular Opinion claims, here’s an idea. Sift out the good ones and slot them into random books to use as bookmarks. If the book you’re reading gets boring, you can always peruse the card – and think to yourself: “Who the hell was Jack?”

Jo Stubbings is a freelance writer.