As far back as I can remember, I have always had fairly good handwriting. In middle school, I got many compliments on it but sadly it has gotten sloppier over the course of high school. From writing or copying notes off of a PowerPoint to trying to write as a teacher or professor lectures, I have lost the beauty of my letters. That being said, my “sloppy” handwriting is still legible and easy to read. It just does not look pretty in my eyes. I believe this “high standard” of my handwriting for myself came from my kindergarten teacher.
I had a fairly normal kindergarten experience; meeting new people, not sleeping during nap time, and learning my ABC’s. All of this was perfectly normal except that my mother was my kindergarten teacher. My mother, Mrs. Beam, had taught for fifteen years only in elementary English with second graders and kindergartners. She loved the kids and truly tried her best to make them all feel loved and equal. Sadly though my mother’s teaching experiences were cut short when she had a stroke. In 2010 my mother suffered a major stroke caused by a blood clot in her brain. Now, in 2019, she is doing wonderfully. She no longer works because of lack of mobility in her right hand and short patience with kids.
Before she had her stroke, my mother was the best kindergarten teacher ever. She made sure that my letters were perfect and look exactly like the tracing letters. In class, we were only made to trace one page at a time. You would think I would get some special treatment, considering I was her only daughter, but nope. I could not choose where I wanted to sit nor pick which snack I got. I thought this was unfair at the time, but I understand why she did it now. The only “special treatment” I ever got was after school. As my mother cleaned the classroom with disinfecting wipes and vacuumed the food up, I sat in her rolly chair and copied letters out of the little red booklet, for what seemed like hours.
Needless to say, I was always good at writing letters, just not spelling. I feel like I spent so much time correction my handwriting that I stopped caring about anything else. I was never good at Math or English or even spelling bees. I was concerned about how my handwriting looked. It even caused me to fall very behind in my classes. When I was in sixth grade, it finally hit me: no one really cares about how neat your handwriting is. It was an extremely weird way I discovered this too. No one said anything or even told me my handwriting was nice in elementary school. I figured it out in math class because I was in the “dumb,” class but I understood everything perfectly.
I now feel like my handwriting is perfectly fine and I accept that it does have flaws, but, that makes it unique, right? Either way, I am truly grateful for my mother making me practice writing my letters over and over again because I am content with how it has changed over the years and will continue to change.