A Fathers Gift

My first typewriter, a summers work.

As children growing up it was expected my sister and I would help out in the daily routine of running the family business. Somewhere in my mid-teens as school was about to come to a close for the summer months, I expressed an interest in finding a job for the duration. After all I was twelve, and if I could fly a plane, I could certainly hold down a full time summer job. My father; who I think after dwelling over the fact that he was about to lose half of his free labor force, came to me with an offer. “Work for me during vacation and I will pay you at the end of the summer.” He said. “Ah; money in the bank.” I thought. So work I did for nary a dime till summer drew to a close.


A week or so before it was time to go back to school, my father replaced the old typewriters In his office with the brand new style Underwood. As summer drew to a close and the time to return to school had arrived, as well as the long awaited payment for my labor. After finishing up the last day’s work ending my part of the bargain, I was called into his office to receive that long awaited compensation, which my father was holding in his hands. Proudly, if not somewhat reluctantly he passed on his old friend to me, along with a ream of paper, a box of assorted ribbons, paper clips, and my first stapler, well as well as the following statement. “This has served me well, and I know it will be with you for many years to come.”


Needless to say after expecting a pocket full of cash, not my father’s old typewrite; I was a little disappointed to say the least. However as fathers usually are, in his infinite wisdom he was right. His prized possession that could miraculously put word to paper by touching the right combination of keys, somehow without auto correct, or spell check Undy, always knew what I wanted to say, and had found a new best friend in me. Furthermore, as some friends often do she tagged along where ever I went. Undy followed me through High School, College, Flight School, Officers Candidate School, then eventually on to Cambodia and Vietnam, where together we wrote and published our very first articles. Because of the circumstances of war, Undy never made it home, however I hope she was able to find a new best friend and again will be putting words on paper, this time; perhaps in a new language.