If you took a class in typing, not keyboarding, but typing you recognize the title of today’s post. Class instruction to learn a typing skill included the repetition of the above phrase. My father was a high school teacher and his primary class was typing. He also taught a few classes in office machines and bookkeeping, but typing was his bread and butter. He taught typing to high school students during the day, adults at night, and everyone else during summer school. He managed and played cashier at the high school concession stand on the weekends and ran the “audio visual” during events in the auditorium.
Obviously, my father was not a lazy man and he expected his children to work hard, too. At the very young age of nine, I was required to attend summer school with a minimum of three classes. Two of the classes were always, always, typing and swimming. You should know my fingers fly on the keyboard as I type this post. It is as easy as breathing. And I am a fish in the water.
You would think I would have been resentful spending my summers so structured. I was not. My classmates were older and I felt important. And what a head start. The skills I learned—hard work and typing served me well during my work years. I worked a full-time secretarial job while I attended and finally completed college--never taking out a loan, never borrowing from the parents and living on my own.
Really not magic, but a special privilege to have a father who taught me to be a strong, independent woman. No, wait, maybe that is magic. Thanks, Dad. I love you and miss you. You were an ornery old cuss, but I am grateful for the life lessons.