justplainbil

Just Plain Bill

What good is a pencil without an eraser?

As I posed this question to myself, while sharpening some pencils I take to my substitute teaching assignments, I wondered – Is this a reflection of my perspective, or even my philosophy of life?

Ever since I can remember, I’ve always been unsure of the accuracy of what I write down. My lack of confidence is no doubt rooted in the fact that I was a horrible speller, always needing an eraser on my pencil so I could either correct or change what I’d written. My writing materials further intensified my lack of confidence for when I was young, the paper we used was usually of newsprint quality and my erasing often led to holes in my paper. Add the fact that when our writing had to be done in ink, it was done using a pen, complete with ink well and attempted on paper over numerous scratches on every desk.

I envy those who keep a journal, especially those who do so using an ink pen. I just can’t write a page, or even a passage, without thinking I needed to “correct” something. What a shame, eh?

I was raised to respect handwriting, trying to learn to let my writing “flow”, moving my arm in a rotating pattern using the fatting part of my forearm in a flexible configuration, with properly formed letters on the page as the expected result. Of course I learned cursive writing in the third grade, using what I believe was called the Palmer method - a method I most likely resist to this day. When I pay attention to the motion and action of my arm and wrist as I write, my “method” is one that results in a combination of cursive and printed letters created by “squishing” my wrist as I write. (I’m not sure “squishing” is even a word. Where’s my eraser?)

Both my parents were born in England at the turn of the 20^th century. My mother attended school through fifth grade (quite common). My father ran away from home and did not attend school beyond second grade, at the most. My mother loved writing, and became quite proficient with calligraphy. I still have a few of her journals and notebooks, which I treasure.

I also suffered through the early years of typing with paper that was extremely hard to correct (why would I even try to use carbon paper?) That was followed by more expensive paper that was “erasable”, and then on to correction tape – I was ecstatic when IBM came out with their Selectric typewriter that allowed you to back space and “correct” your error. Then came White Out, and finally spellcheck on our computers…(oh, there’s my eraser).

So, what might be the therapy or treatment for my malady, which might be defined as a deep-seated fear of being “wrong”, or stupid, or?