Typing Lessons

Carly just couldn't take it anymore. She just couldn't stand the fact that I can't type. I 'hunt and peck.' And evidently it's disgusting and ridiculous so she decided to take matters into her own hands. And so began my misery.

Before I go on, let me share a really great moment back at Christmas. Since Carly aspires to be a writer one day, we gave her a cool old Smith Corona Mark I electric typewriter. Remember typewriters? (For those of you under the age of 20, typewriters are for getting typed text onto a piece of paper, like your printer does now. Only this machine does it, one letter at a time, without a word processor or even a computer! Wowie!) Anyway, she opened that baby up and that was it for the day; all three kids were completely distracted from the Olympic sized swimming pool, Bugati motorcycles, and bedside churro machines that we'd gotten them. They were all about the old-school typewriter.

Fast forward four months to yesterday. Carly sat me down at the typewriter
and I realized life is going to be very different for a while.

The taskmaster begins with attendance:

"Chris Booth?"
I raise my hand. "Here."

"Ok, put your sheet of paper in the typewriter. Good. Now, type the letter, 'f' twenty times.

fffffffffffffffffff

"Very nice. Now do it again. Good. Now do it again."

Now, type the letter, 'j' twenty times.

jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj

"Very nice. Now do it again. Good. Now do it again."

You know what comes next: fjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfj

These exercises gave me nightmares the first time this happened back in 9th grade with Wood Tick, I mean, um.........now come to think of it, I don't think I ever knew his real name. My 9th grade typing teacher was just Wood-Tick. I got straight C's.

And now I'm re-living the class with my 12 year old daughter.

Prior to my lesson, Carly has prepared
a typing worksheet for me to follow. There will be a row of left forefinger drills, say, one row each of the letters r,t,f,g,c,v and b. I am required to type each one of those letters, multiple times right underneath her previously prepared rows. I will be graded not only for typing accuracy and neatness, but also if I've remembered to type my name at the top of the page, if my binder is properly organized, for my demeanor in class as well as my attitude and obedience to the teacher! What next? The condition of my cuticles and whether I flossed this morning? Sheesh.

I have scanned some of my work. It is spectacular. You will note my tyrant's I mean my teacher's grading and comments.You will also note my improved grades corresponding to my discovery of the "Correct" button on the keyboard.



I got a day off today; I don't know why. Perhaps I've worn her out. I've never been a very good student, though I am encouraged by my improvement.

Of course, as I typed this post tonight, Carly caught me hunting and pecking. The shame.

I love how Carly loves me. Her taking on the role of teacher, walking me through the basics of typing, the insistence on proper technique, all of it, I know its a way that she tells me that she loves me. And I'll eat it all up, every keystroke, every drill, every red-marked graded paper. I may sound all complainy-ish about being forced to learn to type, but you know I love it, right?