Midst the teacher's protestations about the new, infernal instrument, I sat at my desk musing and marveling as I wrote and wrote. I think it was then that I got in the habit of trying to find as many ways to write my initials as I could possibly think of just to test out the ballpoint. I found dozens of ways, many of which I still use when idly doodling.
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Who knows what the substance of those lessons was for the first week or so after I obtained my ballpoint? All I knew was I was writing in a wonderful new way, and anything could be grist for my mill...a teacher's instructions, my own initials, any thought that popped into my mind. I would write endlessly across the page just to see the faint ink trail its way from beneath the ball at the tip of the pen. Would the ink ever run out? Had 15 cents ever purchased a more marvelous thing? Would the teacher hear it if I kept snapping the pen open and closed just for the fun of hearing it and feeling it respond to my eager touch?
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