I was looking at an autobiographical piece I wrote when I was ten or eleven, and apart from the appalling prose style it struck me how clear and legible my handwriting was. My handwriting is pathetic these days. That’s what being on a keyboard all this time will do. I presume this is the case all around.
In the bottom of the photo, by the way, there’s a brief description of the death of a black cocker spaniel puppy in my neighborhood, when I was three years old. A moving truck backed up and flattened the little guy. I mentioned this event about five years ago in my Reel.com column, and wrote, “I can still see that little black pancake on the pavement with the tongue sticking out.” These words were subsequently used as part of an online objet d’art that appeared a year or so later.