Forgive me, Mrs. Simonic
When I was in third grade I rebelled.
I got sick and tired of tracing letters on a page, because I knew how to draw my letters, and it was so terribly boring to follow the tiny arrows up, around, in, and down. Sure, I never managed to copy the line exactly, because after all, I never colored in the lines, but close was good enough, right?
Now I have great respect for those who teach hand-writing.
There are days when I can't decide whether a letter is an A, P, T, S or G... times when I hold the letter at every angle possible to see if I can just manage to make out whether a particular word has seven letters or three... letters that we pass around the department, each person contributing the decoding of a handful of words.
There are some words that never rise from obscurity to convey the meaning locked inside.
When it comes to hand-writing, boring is just fine.
I got sick and tired of tracing letters on a page, because I knew how to draw my letters, and it was so terribly boring to follow the tiny arrows up, around, in, and down. Sure, I never managed to copy the line exactly, because after all, I never colored in the lines, but close was good enough, right?
Now I have great respect for those who teach hand-writing.
There are days when I can't decide whether a letter is an A, P, T, S or G... times when I hold the letter at every angle possible to see if I can just manage to make out whether a particular word has seven letters or three... letters that we pass around the department, each person contributing the decoding of a handful of words.
There are some words that never rise from obscurity to convey the meaning locked inside.
When it comes to hand-writing, boring is just fine.
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