On my third birthday, Mum and Dad presented me with an old style black ribbon typewriter. Not the model recently sighted in Toy Land's front window display, this was one genuine, key punching, carriage returning, writing machine.
A lifelong journey began. I could hardly wait until school to learn what all those letters meant.
Blackboard symbols were transcribed into exercise books. Characters became words, then sentences. Rote learning made way for imagination. Creative stories emerged. Years passed.
Sometimes vocabulary still eludes these fingers, tapping their well worn strokes, but desire drives us ever onward. Weaving language, seeking meaning, eternally questing.
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