The Signature
When I was younger, I spent a lot of time with my grandparents. Whenever I was
at their house, and my grandma had to do some errands, I would join her. One of my
favorite places was the bank because they gave me candy. I had no idea what “the bank”
was, though. I remember asking her once why she always gave them money, but they
didn’t give her anything back. My grandma explained the concept of a savings account in
the most basic terms. She gave them her money to keep it safe, and so she wouldn’t
spend it, and they would give it back when she wants to buy something that costs a lot.
When I was 7, I decided that I wanted to open my own savings account. It wasn’t
that I wanted to save up my money to buy something that was expensive. I just didn’t
want my brothers to take my money, and I wanted to be like my grandma. My grandma
and mother agreed to help me open my own savings account. I was so excited, until my
grandma gave me the worst news.
To open a bank account, she said I had to give them my “official signature.” I
hadn’t learned cursive yet. My excitement quickly turned to disappointment. I knew that I
would learn cursive in 3rd grade, but I was still in 2nd grade. I would have to wait a
whole year. I begged my grandma to teach me how to write my name in cursive. She
agreed, but with one stipulation. She said she wouldn’t teach me just the letters in my
name. I had to learn all of the letters in the alphabet. I agreed, so that I didn’t have to wait
until 3rd grade to open my savings account.
Over the next few weeks, I spent time with my grandma, working hard to learn
the letters in cursive, both capital and lowercase. It was easy enough at first. For most of
the letters, I just watched her write the letter, traced over her letter a few times, and then
wrote it on my own. She also made up sentences with the letters I had learned. Then, I
got to capital “S.” I could not figure it out. I watched my grandma write the letter over
and over again, but my “S” was always wrong. I always made the loop at the top the
wrong way, so the whole S was backwards. And, the curve/bump part was always way
too small. I was getting quite discouraged; I was never going to be able to open my own
bank account.
After a few days of failed attempts at the “S,” my grandma figured out how to
explain it in a way that I would understand. She explained the loop first. She asked me if
I remembered the capital cursive letter “G” and I said that I did, and wrote the letter for
her to see. Then, she said that the loop on the “G” is the same as the loop on the “S.”
Why hadn’t I thought of that before? I excitedly wrote an “S” going the correct way.
She moved on and explained how to do the bump/curve part in a pretty funny
way. She called my grandpa into the room. “When you make the “S,” think of a person
who is leaning forward and the bump is the belly.” She had my grandpa lean forward so I
could see what she meant. “You don’t want a small belly like yours. You want a big belly
like Pop.” She patted his stomach, looked at him and smiled. My grandpa didn’t think it
was very funny, but I thought this was the silliest thing I had ever heard, and I laughed
and laughed. After a couple of comments in between laughing such as, “Pop really does
have a big belly.” and “Pop’s belly is way bigger than mine,” I calmed down, and I gave
the “S” another shot. Thinking of the bump/curve like my grandpa’s belly worked. It was
much better than the previous (what seemed like) thousands of “S’s” that I made. I ran to
my grandpa, giggling, showed him the “S” and told him that it was his big like his belly,
which I’m sure he didn’t appreciate very much. The rest of the letters were a breeze. I
was able to give the bank my “official signature” and open a bank account.
I found out a few years later that seven-year-olds couldn’t open bank accounts.
My grandma had opened the account in her name and just deposited my small amount of
money for me. She had me sign a separate paper, so that I thought I was opening the
account myself, and so that I felt “grown up.” I’m not exactly sure why she wanted to
teach me cursive, but I’m glad she did. In third grade, when the other kids in my class
were learning cursive, I was just getting a little extra practice.