#SOL14 - Always a Writer

Summer. 1982. I was seven years old. My tender and loving second grade teacher had told us at the end of the year that in third grade we would learn many new things. One of these things was cursive writing.

Oh, how I fell in love with those loops and curls. I just couldn't wait to write like a grown up, all fancy and frilly and flowing across the paper like an ice skater making graceful figure eights. It may have been summer, but I had to learn right away.

I begged my mom to show me how to turn my archaic chicken scratch into something beautiful. She found a book that showed each letter, gave me a pen and paper, and set me loose.

I still remember sitting in front of the long picture window that looked out into our front yard. Our bright blue and green curtains were drawn open, creating a makeshift stage for my practice session. Rain splattered on the window pane, pale yellow light shining through the grey clouds and into the living room as I hunched over my paper, practicing my loops and curves. The house was quiet, the only sound coming from the soft pattering of rain against glass. I wrote the letters carefully, forming each dip and arch with careful precision until I ran out of paper.

This quiet summer morning remains one of my favorite childhood memories.

1 comment:

  1. I know, and to think it may be a disappearing art. I never really thought about the power of learning cursive until I signed up for an afternoon learning Chinese calligraphy - that was truly a mental exercise with a certain amount of the magic you describe in your entry.