WRITE IT DOWN

Or Forget About It.

Science has now proven that if you handwrite something you will remember it better.  I learned that firsthand at age 12.  My mother had just left husband number four.  She spirited me off in the middle of the night to drive from Arizona to New York City.  A week later she enrolled me in a chichi all-girls school with the Astors and the Vanderbilts. 

I went from wide-open sky and desert to towering buildings and a zillion people.  From an Air Force base public school to a college preparatory, private one.  From wearing whatever I pleased to being stuffed in a uniform with a white blouse and plaid skirt.  From bare feet to stiff, leather loafers.  The latter would come in handy. 

Academically, I was woefully behind, so had to repeat 7^th grade.  That was okay because I had already skipped two grades and was still the youngest in my class.  What was not okay was that these girls were brilliant. They spoke French and attended Met Galas and Broadway shows.  I caught crawdads and followed the neighborhood boys around on my bicycle with a playing card flapping in my rear wheel.

My first big test was in Ancient History.  I simply could not remember what happened when.  Alexander the Great stuck out because he was only 25 when he conquered half the continent.  Our building Super was 25, too.  So, every time he took out the trash and banged the cans, I imagined him galloping across the desert waving a sword.

The night before the test, as I frantically underlined dates in my book, I glanced at the bottom of my loafers.  Their smooth, leather surface seemed a perfect canvas for writing on!  Carefully, I printed dates and events across both shoes with a black, ink pen.  During the test, I would casually cross my leg and read the answers!

I’d forgotten that the next morning I had to walk from York to Madison Avenue. That’s seven, long, crosstown blocks.  From there, I took the 62^nd street bus, and got off at 91^st street.  By the time I climbed three flights of stairs and crossed my leg, there was nothing left but blurry hieroglyphics.  Since I’d written them down, though, they were etched in my mind, and I passed.  The moral?  What’s in your head sticks longer than what’s on the bottom of your shoes.