This is the vintage Remington typewriter that belongs to my mother. It sits on her shelves, is lovingly dusted each week, and is the instrument with which she typed all her papers in high school and letters to my father when he was in Vietnam. I used to play with it when I was little, sneaking over when I thought the heavy "ca-chink" of the keys striking wouldn't be heard. I would marvel at how anyone could write page after page, pushing down against the heavy metal keys, using correction fluid to erase mistakes (or worse, starting anew). "Are you playing with that typewriter again?" her voice would call out from upstairs, her "super-sonic mom ears" able to detect my quietest movements. I smile now as she scurries over to keep my oldest son from playing with the Remington when we visit her in Virginia. I have hopes that he'll be as in love with the written word as I was, and am. Perhaps he'll see his work published one day too. Perhaps my mother will finally realize this typewriter is indestructible and simply let children enjoy drafting their imaginary novels. Perhaps, in honor of my mother, I'll be chasing my own grandchildren's mischievous hands away from the keys when it adorns my shelves many years from now.Friday, March 13, 2009
Story Behind the Picture: "Old School"
This is the vintage Remington typewriter that belongs to my mother. It sits on her shelves, is lovingly dusted each week, and is the instrument with which she typed all her papers in high school and letters to my father when he was in Vietnam. I used to play with it when I was little, sneaking over when I thought the heavy "ca-chink" of the keys striking wouldn't be heard. I would marvel at how anyone could write page after page, pushing down against the heavy metal keys, using correction fluid to erase mistakes (or worse, starting anew). "Are you playing with that typewriter again?" her voice would call out from upstairs, her "super-sonic mom ears" able to detect my quietest movements. I smile now as she scurries over to keep my oldest son from playing with the Remington when we visit her in Virginia. I have hopes that he'll be as in love with the written word as I was, and am. Perhaps he'll see his work published one day too. Perhaps my mother will finally realize this typewriter is indestructible and simply let children enjoy drafting their imaginary novels. Perhaps, in honor of my mother, I'll be chasing my own grandchildren's mischievous hands away from the keys when it adorns my shelves many years from now.
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2 comments:
Just a little family history, this typewriter originally belonged to my grandfather. He purchased it right after he gave up his rock and chisel. And yes, I always knew whn you were playing with it.
Love, Mom
I love this story! My mother used to tell me about using an old typewriter in high school too. Wish she would have thought to hold onto it too. What a work of art!
And I am old enough to have used a typewriter in school too, but the one I used was electric and plastic and not pretty. And it was awful to use... I was a horrible typist and my papers would come out messy and inky and smudgy. Thank goodness for computers! :)
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