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The typewriter I have on my desk is, to me, a wonderful relic. I use it for fun every now and then - but only when I am home alone. As it really is quite a noisy little thing. And then, during my interview with my grandma, I made a shocking discovery. She told me that in specific typing classes, the entire room would drown in the sound of these writing machines. Students are furiously typing away in an attempt to learn typing skills. Teachers taught specific hand placements and rhythm. These skills were taught to give kids an upper hand in joining various work forces.

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Something that brought my grandmother a lot of joy in recalling her early school years was the records. When a teacher would walk in, enthusiastically brandishing a new record from a faraway place. They were used to help with learning different languages, read-alongs, or historical re-tellings. On special occasions, she recalled them playing orchestral background music in assemblies and dances. They were in bulky suitcase-sized boxes, and treated with great respect. It was always a treat when the record player got pulled out.

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"Don't put your fingers in the tape, Jimmy!" 

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"Don't put your fingers in the tape, Jimmy!" 

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"It really was a wrestle for our poor teacher to get us to stop messing with the tapes." My mother recalled a huge self that their elementary teacher had furnished with VHS tapes of all kinds, filled with many different educational videos and snow day movies. When the big ol' box TV would get wheeled down the hall, the class would clap for joy. It was vastly preferred to the chalkboard and overhead projector. "When the lights would go out we could all gather around and watch; we were just memorized." She said. Although admittedly it could get quite dull if the tape was jammed and they had to patiently wait for the teacher to try and fix it or get another one.

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In high school a beautiful thing happened. My mom grew up in a poor military town with a family that could afford very few resources. However, the moment handheld portable calculators hit the supermarkets, gone were the days of crying at the kitchen table, hand-counting answers to problems. It shaved her homework time in half, being able to simply put the little number in and have an answer immediately spat out at her. The learning curve using them as problems worsened was hard, but nothing compared to hours alone with scratch paper.

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"Oh, I couldn't stand that place." Ashley frowned. She was referring to the computer lab. A dingy room at the back of the school where they were sent once a week to practice typing and learning how to use the internet. "You just sat there and pushed buttons, then waited five minutes for one thing to load." She hated when the hours would just tick by, and hated the way her eyes felt after staring at the pixels that long. Only then did she laugh. Admitting that today, staring at a screen doesn't bother her even a little bit.

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She still remembered the buzz in the waiting rooms. In her freshman year of college, people could not stop talking about their biology class. Why? Well, her college had chosen to pioneer in a brand new curriculum. One that involved alien zoos on faraway planets. Finally, her name was called, and in she walked. "The room was pitch black with neon blue desks. You sat, put the headset on, and there you went. Up to the zoo." She was referring to the state-of-the-art VR sets. Sets that transported students to a faraway virtual world to run around with animals, fly spaceships, and collect and analyze data. She said she loved how interactive it was, and anything she learned there she took with her to the classroom.