By definition, a disclaimer is a statement that denies something, usually responsibility. I use a version of the disclaimer to let myself off the hook, often because I am either unskilled, unawares or inexperienced. In any case, I use disclaimers frequently. It wasn’t me.
In high school there was noting clever or shrewd about scheduling my classes for the year. Math, English & Social Studies were required and that left three elective slots to fill that you could choose for yourself. My simple strategy was; “Take the easiest class available.” That netted multiple years of Study Hall, Art and Gym, then once around with Speech, Drafting, Journalism, Driver’s Education and Typing. An unintended consequence with that strategy was, not surprisingly I was totally unprepared for higher education but my exposure to a diverse range of activity turned out to be a good thing.
I liked Typing. I was a senior thrown in with mostly sophomore girls. They would go on to take Shorthand and Bookkeeping classes and I would go on to look for work and then serve in the Army. But typing was something I could do, very slowly but not many mistakes. The dexterity/coordination aspect was very much to my liking. Those big, heavy, manual machines required a firm, uniform strike on every key stroke. Too hard and you could punch a hole in the page. Too weak and you don’t leave enough ink behind to make out the word.
At the time, secretaries had to translate and type from their shorthand notes which meant they couldn’t look at the keys. You can’t look back and forth or you would never make over 10 or 12 words per minute and you would never get hired to begin with. On a good day I could get 33 or 34 wpm. on a timed writing with only a couple of errors. By the end of the year the girls were getting 60+ wpm. But I was never competing with them. My little pinky strike on the ‘A’ came out just as clear as the index finger strike on the ‘F’ and I thought that was outstanding.
Crazy as it sounds, my academic skills never caught up but my work ethic did. As a college freshman at 25, a typewriter was a necessity. I bought a used Royal with a legal size carriage; really big. Not a luxury, if you wanted to piss off a professor just turn in a handwritten paper. Crazy as it sounds, I did alright in college; just needed those extra years to find my way. What defies logic is that I started writing (typing) a journal my second year of college and I’m still at it; and I don’t have to look at the keys. A few years ago my granddaughter was reading over my shoulder as I typed. I looked up at her and continued writing which freaked her out. “How do you do that?” she shrieked, “You are looking at me and still typing.” They don’t teach typing anymore, they call it keyboard skills but we always called it ‘Hunt & Peck’.
Once in junior high I created a news paper at home on the week end. I used spiral notebook paper, tearing off the ragged edge and printed in long hand, made up stories about imaginary neighbors and what happened on the school bus. I even sketched some graphics and a headline. When I got finished my news paper ran nearly three pages but it took nearly two hours and all I had was one copy. I didn’t need to be a math wizard to know there was no future in that enterprise. The fun was in the process, not the result.
Finally, here comes the disclaimer: I wasn’t supposed to be a writer. It’s not my fault. I was supposed to play 3rd base for the St. Louis Cardinals but they took somebody else. After my home made news paper fizzled and my typing had no place to grow, why would I start throwing words at the page? I don’t know why but I do; and I don’t really need a disclaimer. I’ll take the blame. It took me long enough to make the connection but there you are. Maybe it was me after all.
In high school there was noting clever or shrewd about scheduling my classes for the year. Math, English & Social Studies were required and that left three elective slots to fill that you could choose for yourself. My simple strategy was; “Take the easiest class available.” That netted multiple years of Study Hall, Art and Gym, then once around with Speech, Drafting, Journalism, Driver’s Education and Typing. An unintended consequence with that strategy was, not surprisingly I was totally unprepared for higher education but my exposure to a diverse range of activity turned out to be a good thing.
I liked Typing. I was a senior thrown in with mostly sophomore girls. They would go on to take Shorthand and Bookkeeping classes and I would go on to look for work and then serve in the Army. But typing was something I could do, very slowly but not many mistakes. The dexterity/coordination aspect was very much to my liking. Those big, heavy, manual machines required a firm, uniform strike on every key stroke. Too hard and you could punch a hole in the page. Too weak and you don’t leave enough ink behind to make out the word.
At the time, secretaries had to translate and type from their shorthand notes which meant they couldn’t look at the keys. You can’t look back and forth or you would never make over 10 or 12 words per minute and you would never get hired to begin with. On a good day I could get 33 or 34 wpm. on a timed writing with only a couple of errors. By the end of the year the girls were getting 60+ wpm. But I was never competing with them. My little pinky strike on the ‘A’ came out just as clear as the index finger strike on the ‘F’ and I thought that was outstanding.
Crazy as it sounds, my academic skills never caught up but my work ethic did. As a college freshman at 25, a typewriter was a necessity. I bought a used Royal with a legal size carriage; really big. Not a luxury, if you wanted to piss off a professor just turn in a handwritten paper. Crazy as it sounds, I did alright in college; just needed those extra years to find my way. What defies logic is that I started writing (typing) a journal my second year of college and I’m still at it; and I don’t have to look at the keys. A few years ago my granddaughter was reading over my shoulder as I typed. I looked up at her and continued writing which freaked her out. “How do you do that?” she shrieked, “You are looking at me and still typing.” They don’t teach typing anymore, they call it keyboard skills but we always called it ‘Hunt & Peck’.
Once in junior high I created a news paper at home on the week end. I used spiral notebook paper, tearing off the ragged edge and printed in long hand, made up stories about imaginary neighbors and what happened on the school bus. I even sketched some graphics and a headline. When I got finished my news paper ran nearly three pages but it took nearly two hours and all I had was one copy. I didn’t need to be a math wizard to know there was no future in that enterprise. The fun was in the process, not the result.
Finally, here comes the disclaimer: I wasn’t supposed to be a writer. It’s not my fault. I was supposed to play 3rd base for the St. Louis Cardinals but they took somebody else. After my home made news paper fizzled and my typing had no place to grow, why would I start throwing words at the page? I don’t know why but I do; and I don’t really need a disclaimer. I’ll take the blame. It took me long enough to make the connection but there you are. Maybe it was me after all.
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