Me and Moses:

When one of my grandchildren asked me what kind of grades I got when I was a kid, I quickly responded, "Pretty good ones." I hoped he wouldn’t press me for details, because I didn’t want to explain why I had dropped a typing class in mid semester. What would I tell him? That I was a terrible typist and didn’t want to ruin my grade point average by failing Typing 101? Although this was true, it wasn’t the kind of thing to tell a grandson who thinks you are of average or better intelligence and ability.

I remember the class clearly. From the very beginning, I performed miserably. When others were typing 20 and 30 words a minute, I was certain that, if it were possible, I’d get a minus score. I had no trouble learning where the keys were, but, for some reason, my fingers had difficulty striking the right ones. I plugged along for awhile but found myself falling further and further behind.

Finally I told my parents about my predicament. My mother, undoubtedly one of the best typists in the world, encouraged me to continue. (Perhaps she was getting tired of typing my papers.) My bubbie, always my champion, sympathized. "So what’s wrong with using a pencil?"she asked. "You can be sure Moses didn’t have a typewriter in the desert!" Such profound wisdom!

And so I arranged to drop the course and saved my grade point average. When I told my typing teacher I was quitting, she asked me what I wanted to do with my life. "I’m going to be a writer,"I responded without hesitation. I knew what she was thinking from the ‘humph’ she emitted. I thought about telling her about Moses, but decided against it. My second thought was to ask Bubbie to write her a note.


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