I found an abandoned keyboard outside my apartment on Wednesday – the kind you type on, not rock out Mozart on, although I guess depending on who you are and what you call art, an argument could be made for the equivocation of the two…I digress, the sight of it immediately and involuntarily excited me.
I can understand how this sight might not be exactly enthralling to many others, but I was quickly reminded that it’s still one of the most exciting things in the world to me. I know what you’re thinking…a keyboard? Really?! But it’s true. Ever since I was a kid, I always thought anything with letters on it that I could make words out of were the coolest things ever invented.
I have no explanation for this random obsession with typing mechanisms, I’ve just always been drawn to them. When I was little, my dad found an old broken typewriter in the basement and brought it up for us kids to play with. I thought it was the most awesome thing ever! This is especially ironic considering that I’ve really never learned to properly type; my husband makes fun of me, he says I type with two fingers like a T-Rex:
I can assure you, it’s not that drastic. I moved around a lot as a kid and that part of my development “suffered.” But I can make words come out of my fingers nonetheless, so let’s not get hung up, alright?
Where was I? Oh yeah, random childhood toys. I loved playing with keyboards! I would pretend that I was an author, reporter, spy, lawyer, cashier, banker, librarian, garbage man (I’m not sure why, but I have a distinct memory of weighing and charging my siblings for their garbage on my typewriter)…Come to think of it, I could really play any occupation as long as I had that typewriter and as long as I was in charge of it – I liked to be in charge a lot when I was little; they call that “executive leadership” skills now 😉 But my favorite thing to do on that typewriter was type up my own stories, poetry and short musings. And what do you know? Lo and behold I’ve grown up to be a lowly blogger!
Whatever the case, I think that typewriter made an impression on me, one that was formative and unshakable. Something about it called to me. And I can’t help but wonder if we are our truest selves when we are kids? If we’re born with all we are already inside of us just waiting to come to fruition? Is there something to that? OR are we inherently shaped by the tools we are exposed to as children? If that’s the case then I totally blame my status on my dad for allowing us to play with broken office equipment. I mean, what if he had brought home a copy of Adam Smith’s The Wealth of the Nations?
What was your favorite toy when you were a kid? What did you like to make-believe most often? Does it have anything to do with what you are doing now? Does it still call to you?