Endless Summer

One summer, some thirty-odd years ago, long before I even knew there was such a thing as advertising, my mom made me sit down and copy the entire Disney encyclopedia. Granted, they were skinny volumes with lots of pictures, but still.

I remember now, it was the summer between first grade and second grade. See, I had really bad handwriting, and I wrote really sloooooow. It was probably because I was left-handed and they made me write with my right. I still do. But anyway. I rarely finished copying down my lessons because I'd be too embarrassed to say I wasn't done when the teacher asked if she could erase the board. Which was why the highest I ever got was second in class. (Remember, this was first grade. High school was a different thing entirely.)

But the thing that bugged my teacher so much that she called my mother in for a meeting was that I lost three spelling contests in a row. It wasn't that I couldn't spell, it was just that I wrote too slow. Never mind that my answers were always correct, I. Was. Just. Too. Slow.

So. My mom decided we should work on my writing. I have the callus on my ring finger to remember it by. And the dubious reputation of being the fastest AVP writer in the sideline circles.

I remember it well, it wasn't so bad. But I wanted to draw. I wanted to read. I wanted to ride my bike to the neighbors and play. But no. I had to write.

It's that summer all over again.