A Symbol of Unconventional Love
Gratitude Challenge - Week 5 - Something Someone Gave You
The clickity clack of typewriter keys calm my nerves, quelling my worries as I pound away my thoughts. Typing on a typewriting is becoming a lost art. I love the tangible experience of the keys and the noises that our silent computers fail to have.
I received my typewriter years ago as a Christmas gift from my grandmother. At the time, the 1930s enamored me, particularly the era of the Great Depression. The American Girl doll Kit Kittredge caused much of this fascination. Because I grew up in a recession, I related to Kit's dad losing his job and the millions of other unemployed Americans. I understood what it was like to ration money, not buying new clothes and toys. But, more than anything, I longed for a typewriter, to be even more like Kit.
However, this is not just any old typewriter.
My grandmother used this typewriter to transcribe, not one, but two of my grandfather's theses for his, not one, but two PhDs in various forms of physics and electrical engineering. Her actions truly embodied the meaning of "a labor of love." Written on cardstock, she had to start an entire page over if she made even one mistake. To this day, she types more than 60 words per minute and is the most computer savvy grandmother I know.
The feminist in me declares that this action is completely ridiculous, an act of subservience. However, I admire my grandmother so much for her selfless love. My grandparents do not display their affection in conventional ways; their relationship is very much practical. This is an act of love if I ever saw one.
I am thankful for the inky keys and the xs I put over mistakes in my typing. They remind me of my grandmother's sacrifice for love. I hope and pray that I will be able to make an equally powerful sacrifice for my love someday.
The clickity clack of typewriter keys calm my nerves, quelling my worries as I pound away my thoughts. Typing on a typewriting is becoming a lost art. I love the tangible experience of the keys and the noises that our silent computers fail to have.
I received my typewriter years ago as a Christmas gift from my grandmother. At the time, the 1930s enamored me, particularly the era of the Great Depression. The American Girl doll Kit Kittredge caused much of this fascination. Because I grew up in a recession, I related to Kit's dad losing his job and the millions of other unemployed Americans. I understood what it was like to ration money, not buying new clothes and toys. But, more than anything, I longed for a typewriter, to be even more like Kit.
However, this is not just any old typewriter.
My grandmother used this typewriter to transcribe, not one, but two of my grandfather's theses for his, not one, but two PhDs in various forms of physics and electrical engineering. Her actions truly embodied the meaning of "a labor of love." Written on cardstock, she had to start an entire page over if she made even one mistake. To this day, she types more than 60 words per minute and is the most computer savvy grandmother I know.
The feminist in me declares that this action is completely ridiculous, an act of subservience. However, I admire my grandmother so much for her selfless love. My grandparents do not display their affection in conventional ways; their relationship is very much practical. This is an act of love if I ever saw one.
I am thankful for the inky keys and the xs I put over mistakes in my typing. They remind me of my grandmother's sacrifice for love. I hope and pray that I will be able to make an equally powerful sacrifice for my love someday.
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