Poem: Handwriting and Character

Handwriting and Character

My hand writing is atrocious.
Always has been.
At this point, it likely always will be.

As a child, it was considered a character flaw,
an unwillingness to practice. Laziness,
or worse, some kind of rebellion.

The odd thing is how rebellious I was not
as a child. Only different.
Rebellion did not settle in until later.

Once, as a young adult,
I went to start a new bank account.
I had been practicing, and finally had it,

a signature that was pretty as the textbooks,
actually readable. My fifth grade teacher,
who hated me, would have been proud.

“Too perfect” the banker said.
“Anyone could copy that.”
So I scrawled something illegible, more me,

and it became my signature.
Still is.

A lesson learned at twenty four.
Forget what they say.
Your flaws may not be what they say they are.

they may just be
your signature.

About this poem

This was one of those poems where you stumble on a photo you took, and write to it because it struck a chord.

I am not saying all flaws are OK. But seriously, so many of what others may call flaws are just quirks. A piece of who we are. Some will hate them. Some will love them. Pick the ones who love them.

I really do have horrible handwriting. According to my fifth grade teacher, it was a character flaw. One of many such I had. She did not like me very much. I don’t blame her. I was a nerdy brat in her class. We brought out the worst in each other.

Tom

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