Sucio
My childhood was messy. By messy, I don’t mean being one of those kids that had snot running down their lips which they wiped away with their sleeves… no. Messy as in, I didn’t care. I’d play rough. Tear my pants at the knees, wear out my shoes, hate combing my hair, love getting wet in the rain… The world was always a playground: Trees and monkey bars were my best friends. Balance beams were close, as was jump roping and racing on my bike. I was the child my mother would lovingly roll her eyes at and the sister who was too wild to be related to. Messy.
I had been assigned to sit next to an Aaron that year. He wore sweaters and slacks. Or jeans and polo shirts. Or shorts and striped t-shirts. They were always ironed. I don’t remember when I first started noticing. He was a prodigy, it seemed, in music class. The teacher would have him sing solos at concerts and count beats for the rest of us… I admit he had a nice voice. I admit I was jealous. Despite all this, he was nice to his neighbors: smile politely, address politely, talk politely, lend politely. He was class President. I even voted for him.
But what caught my attention the most was his handwriting. Let me admit again my messy state: my scrawl was readable, but not likable. It left a slight frown of frustration on my elders and a snicker and scoff from my peers. I didn’t care. Until I sat next to ~him.~ Angelic, perfect penmanship. His wrists would wave, much like when he was counting beats in music class, and his fingers would give way to a row of beautiful letters. I wasn’t jealous this time for some reason. Rather, it had hit me.
My scrawl turned to writing. My writing I would turn into art: Eight years later, I sat smiling down at his name on an award certificate… a name that was written smoothly in faultless curves with a calligraphy nib dipped in black ink. They paid me 75 dollars to do 100 names… But by then, it didn’t matter.
What had hit me that day, so many years ago, was a sense of ~beauty.~ A small tinge of it perhaps, but something nevertheless.
The capacity to create it, mature it, claim it, respect it…
A lesson well taught.
And well learned.
To mature it… I fear my handwriting shall never mature. It seems to frequently change without my consent.
Beautiful post, to bad it is typed.
Comment by Nerual — February 5, 2007 @ 7:55 pm
Thanks for posting that poem. Its a funny thing, I’ve read it before and its really beautiful in its own diminutive way. I wasn’t messy as a child, but your post really made me wonder what if I had been…sigh
Yeah my handwriting sucks, I dont know what to do, or how to change it; you seemed to fix it…HELPP!!!!
Comment by Philip — February 8, 2007 @ 11:09 pm
You can tell what grade I was in, and even what semester of that school year, by looking at my handwriting. My whole life, I’ve been looking for the perfect penmanship. Something that is beautiful, legible, and my own. I like my writing now, but I’m sure it will change before long. In fact, it never changes naturally. It changes because I want it to. Many times I’ve invented my own style anew, sitting for hours and hours writing, “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog,” forcing myself to make a habit of forming the letters in a particular way. A bit sad, I know, but I like it. I’m a writer. A writer writes.
Wonderful post, K.
Comment by Justin — February 11, 2007 @ 3:10 pm
Excellent. I love your handwriting, especially the resulting thoughts and tales!, and hope someday to witness your art.
I like Justin’s comment, too. “A writer writes.”
That’s my new defense.
Comment by Tigerlilyindiana — February 15, 2007 @ 2:20 pm
I feel that penmenship, and the “art” of writing is slowly becoming nonexistent. thank you technology!? i am mixed. But like you i was also a messy child, and my adolescence was a mixture of everything you told of, and more….oh how i miss thee. I wish that things were that simple again…learning the letters, and how to form coherent sentences. NOW LOOK AT US! sheesh. I also wish i could thank that boy who unknowingly inspired you, and led you on your journey as a writer and amongst other things that have provided graet accomplishment(s). i love reading your peoms they are art in their own form and in saying this; WRITE ANOTHER ENTRY!!!! please :D
Comment by ashleyT. — February 16, 2007 @ 12:13 am
I’m with Justin. My penmanship has always changed on purpose. I never wrote the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. I just wrote the letter/letters I needed to change over and over until I got it where I kind of wanted.
My penmanship sucks, but I at least write the letters the way I want. Being homeschooled for 7 years kind of gave me some bad writing habits and I never cared until High School (even then not enough).
Comment by Tim — February 20, 2007 @ 2:15 pm
Thanks for the comment, K. You seriously made my day.
Comment by Justin — February 26, 2007 @ 11:27 pm
Speaking of jealousy: in the last few years I have watched your writing go from superb to beyond superlatives. To even attempt a laudatory description with my simple command of language would only do your prose a disservice. I just thought you should know that for every look of envious admiration you have given someone else, I’m sure you have received many more in return.
Comment by Adrian — February 27, 2007 @ 11:29 am
Hey, K, I finally wrote a new blog. Just a head’s up ;).
Comment by Justin — February 28, 2007 @ 6:55 pm