I remember my grandfather's ritual of filling out his fountain pens
in the morning, and how he would let me open the ink bottles for him.
At seven, I lusted after my aunt's precious Parker 51. However, since
I spent some of my childhood in post-revolutionary Cuba, fountain
pens were a scarce commodity and kept away from children. I arrived
in the United States in 1965, and used a Wearever through junior high
school because that is all I could afford. Sheaffer cartridge pens
came later. For my high school graduation, relatives were instructed
to give me fountain pens (I ended up with duplicate Parker 25's, one
Sheaffer Triumph, and a few other pens that did not last too long).
Today I have many pens, but have never called myself a collector. I
just love writing implements, and the act of writing. Have been
keeping a journal since I was 17, and the many volumes are kept in a
box.
I have lived most of my life in Miami, the past 18 years with my
partner and soulmate. We share a house with two cats, Baby (as in
"Bringing Up"), and Billy, who kindly allow us to live with them. I
am a middle school teacher and love my job. And the hardest part of
writing an autobiography is pinning down my interests: reading, of
course. But the list may be too long and too revealing, and I'd
rather keep this to a minimum in order to have material for snail
mail.
My sense of humor has seen me through tough times, and I plainly
refuse to grow up. Growing old, on the other hand, is inevitable, and
will be hitting the half century mark in 2003. I am sure I'll need my
sense of humor then. And I will still be 22, no matter what the
calendar says.
About the Ian part: I only go by my given name and last name (Gilbert
Socas) in business and professional situations.
Ink up!
Ian
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