My Real Memoir
It was the day my world got bigger. How? I signed my name. Seriously. Near the end of 2nd grade, I signed my first work of art using an ancient form of lettering called “cursive.” Apparently c-sick, I initially signed as “Mithell.” But I quickly recovered and tucked a “c” in under the t’s big protective right arm. On the opposite side, I depicted a rather short Native American boy named ‘Hiawatha,’ as described by a rather tall poet named Longfellow (see what I did there?).
All of my previous artworks had been signed with printed letters (e.g. my ‘Firefighter,’ now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s “Boy Geniuses” gallery). Which makes my ‘Hiawatha’ (now a closely-guarded artifact at the Smithsonian Institution) virtually priceless.
Even More Significant…
…if possible, is this: In that primeval era before fingerprint scanners, handwritten signatures were considered security devices. Hence, no self-respecting librarian would loan you The Cat in the Hat without first checking your signature. So it was that our class took a field trip to the “Fabulous La Mirada Shopping Center.” And there, at our city’s official Library, we signed our names in cursive. Thus did we engage in the timed-honored tribal rite known as “Acquiring a Library Card.”
I was so excited I could scream! Having a library card meant that, for the first time in my life, I could leave our immediate neighborhood without one of those other security devices called an “adult.” I could navigate the tricky curves of a signature. Therefore, I was deemed ready to navigate the busy intersection of Rosecrans and (no, not Guildenstern, but) La Mirada Blvd.!
My World Instantly Got Bigger!
I could not only check out authentic, hardbound books with that wonderful pre-read-book smell, but I could also visit:
- Thrifty Drug Store, where I would use my hard-earned allowance to buy a “hand-packed” 5¢ scoop of Rocky Road, ride the coin-operated rocking horse, and make goofy recordings in the “Make Your Own 45!” booth with my buddy Jeff!
- J.J. Newberry’s, where I’d bought my “first girlfriend” an authentic ruby ring!
- La Mirada Music, where I would eventually buy my first 45s, classics like “The Monster Mash,” and anything by The Beatles.
- Burgermaster, where I would taste my first (terrible pre-fabricated) pizza, sell my first hand-painted Open/Closed sign, a picture of a ghoul both in and out of his coffin (which for some reason they never used).
So many milestones were passed, simply because I learned how to sign my name!
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After reading this delightfully over-the-top memoir moment, I couldn’t help laughing at how dramatically my own world “expanded” the first time I signed my name in cursive. I mean, according to this article, I basically went from a neighborhood-bound second grader to a fully licensed explorer of the Fabulous La Mirada Shopping Center just because I managed to wrangle a wobbly “c” under the protective arm of a heroic letter “t.” Suddenly I’m strutting around with a library card like it’s a passport, convinced that mastering cursive has unlocked not only books with that glorious pre-read smell, but also Rocky Road ice cream, Beatles records, and the chance to buy my “first girlfriend” a ruby ring that was probably worth about 11 cents. Honestly, finishing the piece made me feel like I should revisit my own childhood milestones — because if learning to sign my name was supposed to be this epic, I clearly missed my moment to declare myself an adventurer.
Now, cursive is passe…so many old documents most young people won’t be able to read…almost like a communist conspiracy:0/ I worked so hard on my signature, gave it a warm, artistic flourish! and now, I seldom get to use it…
I’d never thought about this epic milestone in quite this manner, Mitch; i.e., until now. But, by golly, I did second grade at Sadorus (IL) elementary school. At the end of the year, we had an ‘awards’ assembly, and were all given ‘yearbooks’ made of plain white pages and orange construction paper. My ‘girlfriend’ Jackee Weasel (real name!) and I exchanged ‘cursive signatures’ on each others’ ‘yearbooks.’ We lived on a farm, though, so my expanded world came a couple of years later when we moved to the bustling metropolis of Champaign-Urbana. ‘My’ stores were Woolworth’s and Kresge and A&P (sometimes IGA). Woolworth’s was where I got my ice cream, but nothing so adventurous as Rocky Road! You are a good man, Mitch; prompting us all to cherished memories of days long past. Hooray!
Hey! I just did a little dip into the history of Kresge and learned something I never knew! Kresge became Kmart!! The ‘K’ in Kmart is from Kresge! How did I not know that??
You’ve captured something genuine about childhood: how arbitrary milestones suddenly feel monumental because they genuinely are.
This is brilliant, it does stirrup familiar memories. To this day, I cannot make a capital cursive Q.
Dream big
I still have a letter i sent to my grandmother. It was in print as we had not learnt cursive yet. i told her i had a new buggy called Billy. (Billy was in fact a budgie (budgerigar)..
First of all, I have to compliment your artwork when you were a kid-it’s detailed and really good! Back in the day, we had time set aside during the school day to practice our handwriting. We had to use those fountain pens with the ink cartridges. We often used them to squirt other kids! 🙂