I remember when I was a kid, thinking how cool it was that we had our own typewriter. When I was in high school I had a typing class and by then the old Royal was outdated. It was the age of the electric typewriter and they were so much better in every way. It was still handy to have this thing around though when you needed to type a letter.
My father was the one who used this relic the most. He was convinced that typing would keep arthritis from taking up residence in his hands. He may have been right, because he never seemed to have a problem. I would often find him in front of the old manual typing away. He had no idea what the home row keys were but he didn't use the old hunt and peck method either. He saved junk mail to use as his typing paper and he filled the back of each page before going on to another. If he made a typo, instead of using white out to correct the error, he would just space and then try the word over again.
He often talked about writing his memoirs and he did in fact begin a few stories. He had one published in a small Tri-Pacer magazine. I have a copy of that story and maybe some day I'll share it with you.
Come back tomorrow and I'll share a very short piece that my dad wrote while exercising his fingers.