My Typewriter Saved the Day
My Typewriter Saved the Day
When I was a 7th-grade language arts teacher, I had a typewriter in my classroom. It was a/an homage (ohm-ahj or ˈ(h)ämij depending on how you pronounce it) to my roots as an English teacher. I used word processors in elementary school, computers in Middle and High school, but spent time on my grandmother’s typewriter sending letters to Santa Clause as a kid.
When I moved to Texas, I gave my good friend and typing teacher at Sunset Ridge my typewriter. He had a couple in his room, and the kids loved to use them instead of the computers. I came back to Sunset the next year and started teaching in 9th grade. He moved on to another school and gave me one of his typewriters. A 1969 baby blue Smith-Corona Super Sterling typewriter, that he picked up along the way. Included with the typewriter, was a typed note, with some kind words and life advice.
Each Typewriter has a Story
Like many things, each typewriter has its own story. Especially the older ones. I look at my typewriter and try to think about the stories, poems, cards, essays, papers, love letters that it has created. I can see an entire movie surrounding a typewriter and the information it creates. Anyway…
I try to imagine Ray Bradbury writing F-451 in the basement of the UCLA library on a typewriter that he rented at 10 cents for 30 minutes. Nine dollars and eighty cents later an American classic Fahrenheit 451 is finished.
I think about one of my 9th-grade students who wrote a love note to another one of my students during lunchtime. He spent about four days on it. She said yes.
I recall some thank you notes I typed out for teachers as they left the school or for students who needed a pick me up.
He just couldn’t do it
Today, I get to add another story to the fingerprints of my baby blue Super Sterling. It is as follows.
As mentioned in previous posts, I have and keep a special place in my heart for students who have quote-unquote learning disabilities.
Today, one of our students, he is on the Autism spectrum, was having a particularly difficult day. I saw him in the main office during dear (Drop Everything and Read) using the school phone. He was visibly angry and frustrated. The secretaries were trying to talk to him, ( they are so much more than secretaries) but he wasn’t having it. Mandy, our choir accompanist was there also trying to help, she too, is terrific with the kids.
It was clear that he was not going to calm down. I asked him what was wrong.
He explained that he forgot his glasses at home and would not be able to read during DEAR and that because of astigmatism in is his eyes he thought that he would be doing long-term damage to his retinas. Yield (name change) was trying to get his mom to bring his glasses to school and thought she was ignoring his phone calls or pretending to sleep.
Side Note- In previous meetings with mom, we agreed that we would limit phone calls home and that she would try not to answer so that he would go back to class and try to refocus.
As his breathing escalated and he became more frustrated, I told him to breathe and use his tools. I said that we could go down to the library and get an audiobook to listen to so that he didn’t go blind.
He picked up on my exaggeration and stated that he wouldn’t go blind, but that he would have long-term vision problems causing his genetics to go faulty and in so doing would pass them onto his children, just like his dad had given it to him.
Side Note- I love this kid, he is brilliant and hilarious.
Picking out an Audiobook
We talked about books and other things as we walked down to the library. By the time we arrived at the library the other students were reading their books, but on a positive note his breathing had slowed, and he was much calmer. We walked to the Audiobook section, and I instantly knew this might not be as good an idea as previously thought.
“They don’t have Minecraft? How do they not have Minecraft?”
“Well, not everyone likes Minecraft.”
“Name me one person that doesn’t like Minecraft.”
“Me.”
“I mean like a real person, who checks out audiobooks from a library.”
“Me.”
“Seriously, you don’t like Minecraft? Do you even know what it is?”
“Yes.”
“No, I don’t think you do, If you did, you would like it.”
I interrupt, “What about Ender’s Game?”
“No, I already read it, and saw the movie.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yeah, it was good, but not better than Minecraft.”
We then have a conversation about listening to Minecraft on Youtube via the computers in the library. He doesn’t have his headphones. I explain that by the time we get everything set up it would be time to go back to class. I suggest that we go back to my office, get some chocolate, and talk for a few minutes. He likes this idea and agrees.
We discuss Marvel movies and have a mini-debate about the which one is the best.
Whatchamacallit
When we get to my office, he asks pointing to the typewriter, “Does that work?”
“Yes,” I tell him.
I see the sparkle in his eye and grab the typewriter off my bookshelf, blow the dust off, tighten the ribbon, and grab a fresh piece of paper from the printer. I proceed to show him how it works.
He asks, “Can I type on it.”
“Yes. Be careful I haven’t changed the ribbon for a long time.”
Without hesitation, he pulls a large chair up to my desk opposite my chair and starts typing a letter. After a few lines, he asks, “Can I have my chocolate know?”
Opening a drawer full of candy bars, “Yes, which kind do you want?”
“Holy Crap! Can I have whatever I want?”
“Yes. Have you ever had a Whatchamacallit?”
“A what?”
“A Whatchamacallit.”
“No.”
I proceed to read the description and tell him that they are fantastic.
“I’ll take it.” Like I have just sold him a new car or washing machine.
He continues typing for a few bites.
“This is amazing.”
“I know.”
A new story
I tell him to keep typing until the bell rings, and that I need to check on a few other things. I try to find his counselor and the psychologist to let them know about the discovery I’ve made. That Yield (Name Change) is in love with typewriters. I can’t find them and return to check on Yield. He’s typed a half a page and finished his candy bar leaving chocolate and little crispies on the desk.
The bell rings.
“Mr. Campbell, can I come back later and finish my letter?”
“Yeah maybe after school.”
“And the next day?”
“I’m not sure let’s see how the rest of today goes.”
I put his typed letter in a special box in my office, and then get him a note back to class. I set the typewriter back on the shelf with a childish grin knowing that today another story has been added to its history. An adventurous tale containing: stigmatism, frustration, Minecraft, Marvel, Whatchamacallits, and a boy who forgot his glasses.