‘Try birdy,’ I say, gently, as my son struggles with his writing. He finds writing a bit fiddly, particularly how to hold his pencil. ‘Birdy,’ I’ve discovered, is the term his school use for the tripod of thumb, index and middle finger used to hold the nib in place. Trying to get my son to master it serves as yet another reminder of how many deviously complex things we make kids learn so young.
‘I can’t,’ he says, proving that his father’s tendency to give up the moment things get too difficult is a genetic trait. I can’t blame him. I’ve been talking about how to hold a pencil for so long now I’m actively forgetting how to do so myself. Also, since he’s left-handed, I’m doing all my examples with my own left hand, for him to transpose my actions. In theory, this should make it easier for him to emulate my motion, but as I’m right-handed, it just means my writing comes out all wonky and strange, which is probably not desirable in a teacher.
