Learning how to type

When I was first learning to type, I thought, “Why would someone arrange the keys in this idiot fashion?”

This feeling became more pronounced when fifth-grade Applied Tech class whipped me into typing with a white cardboard cover over my hands. I was forced to retype phrases like “as all dads fall; as all dads fall sad” and other depressing statements about the world. Fortunately, I acquired such skill at typing this one phrase that eventually I could blaze through it at 120 words-per-minute, which made up for my dismal performance on later lessons. Forget the “lions at the circus” (23-wpm) or the frightening “read a book and try to cook” (10-wpm); my sad dads allowed me to pull off a mysteriously high 80-wpm average overall. I was content with this, but in order to pass the class I had to move away from the home row. Employers simply aren’t interested in people who can type “ask a salad” with their eyes closed.

Things changed when a new incentive was introduced: lollipops. “If you can type all the letters in a row without looking at the keyboard, I shall give you this lollipop,” our instructor said, reaching into the infinite supply in his desk.

Why a lollipop? Well, there are very few other things that you can dangle in front of a kid to make him diligent. Pre-adolescent thirst for power isn’t enough — it would be ridiculous if my instructor had said, “If you type all the letters, I shall provide you with a high public post in the state of Pennsylvania.” Nor has the quest for a high salary fully settled into our young minds — he couldn’t have said “When I see ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ on that screen, a job at Goldman Sachs is yours.” Lust might work on some of the kids, but only on certain ones, and even then you require foreknowledge. “Xavier, if you type the letters as I say, I will get Laura to kiss you. Laura, please kiss Xavier if he gets this right.” No, only the promise of artificial sweeteners can make men out of boys.

I took a new approach — what if I memorized the layout of the keyboard? Then my brain, not my fingers, would be doing all the important work. Pleased with this new insight, I lifted my cover and looked at the keyboard, and, to my delight, saw that the arrangement of the letters made perfect sense. That is, they made perfect sense from the perspective of someone who sought to cause end users as much pain as possible. I wondered about the inventors of this miserable keyboard layout. Did their teachers fail to teach them the alphabet? Unlikely. I guessed that when the first prototype keyboard was about to go to press, the inventors accidentally dropped it. The keys popped out, neatly arranged themselves into the pattern QWERTYUIOPASDFGHJKLZXCVBNM, and generations of children thereafter suffered.

At any rate, I managed to successfully memorize the three rows, type out the alphabet without peeking under the cardboard cover, and secure the lollipop. Enduring months of this silliness failed to improve my typing skills beyond 20-wpm. Then a year later, a friend introduced me to the wonders of instant messaging, and before I knew it I was typing at 30, 40, 60, 80 wpm.

Moral: If you want to teach kids how to type, introduce them to instant messengers.