Yes, these "things" we received were a kind of marker too. Of how responsible or more mature we had become.
The first such marker I received was a fountain pen. That pen meant I was no longer a little kid, a baby.
Back in those days, school-children did not use pens -- ballpoint or ink -- till they were about 10 years old. It was as if you were not allowed to make a permanent mark till you got to the two-digit age. Words written in pencil, after all, are so temporary.
Well, when you got to Standard Four you were told by your teacher to get a fountain pen. And a pot of ink. In my school -- the Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus in Ipoh -- the teachers did not believe in individuality. We all had to use blue ink. Royal blue. Brand? Quink.
My first fountain pen was a cheap little number. I remember it was an ugly green but I thought it was the most beautiful thing ever.
My very own fountain pen. How very grown-up. With such a writing instrument, everything I wrote would be both permanent and profound.
Thinking back, it was a very messy time. The pen leaked, my fingers got blue and I was always buying blotters.
Do you remember those things? They came in sheets and we used to buy them from the school "book-shop". I used mine to wipe away the ink clinging on to the pen each time I filled it.
I remember looking at the "big" girls when I was in Standard Three. They looked so cool with their ink-stained fingers and pots of ink which they carried to school every day.
Nobody thought to buy two pots; one to keep at school and the other at home. It just wasn't done.
Then when I was going to start Standard Six, my father gave me a present. He didn't make a big deal out of it when he handed me the slim rectangular box... just smiled. When I opened the box and saw nestled within it a silver fountain pen, I was stunned. This was the most expensive gift I had ever received. A silver Sheaffer pen. Wow.
And just like that, I knew. Yes, I was a big girl now. My Dad had trusted me enough to buy me an expensive pen.
I still had to use the royal blue Quink ink but that pen accompanied me from Standard Six right through to Form Five. By the time I went to Form Six, it was no longer silver. I had used it so much, its silver plating had come off in parts.
Remembering this particular rite of passage, I wonder what today's children will look upon as markers of their growing-up years.
I look at my eight-year-old nephew who is now in Year Two and somehow I don't think a fountain pen will do it for him. When he turns 10 in two years' time, what will my brother give him to signify he is no longer a little kid? I have no idea really. Could it be his own computer? Or his own handphone?
I feel nostalgic about my Sheaffer pen. It's long gone now -- I can't even remember when I lost it -- but I can still see it clearly in my mind. A matte silver pen with a white dot on the clip.
When my father gave it to me, I don't think he even thought about what it would mean to me. In those days, it was just the thing to do. You bought your child his/her own pen when you felt they were ready and they kept it for life. Well, almost.
I like to think that pen started me off on the right path -- the path that would lead me to a career in writing.
Earlier this evening, I was pen-shopping with my other brother. He wasn't looking for a fountain pen -- "... even though I would love to have one but I might forget to replace the cap and have ink all over my shirt pocket..." -- but he wanted something a little more classy than a disposable ballpoint pen.
So we looked at all these pens. Not quite ballpoint pens and not really fountain pens. They wrote well... not too thick and smooth. He finally found one he liked and after making sure refills were available... he bought it.
I know people don't get excited about pens anymore; at the bookshop where he bought his pen, the counter was surrounded by stacks of merchandise making it hard to really have a good look at the pen display.
These days, people hardly use pens. Sure, there are those who wear them like accessories.
For a time, every CEO in town had a Mont Blanc sticking out of his shirt pocket but how much writing did they actually do with their pens? They probably did more signing-- of documents, cheques and credit card receipts -- than writing.
Well, I have been given many pens since that first Sheaffer. Many were corporate gifts, the name or logo of the company etched prominently across the pen's body.
And a few years ago, my sister gave me a funky Cross pen. Thick and short, it didn't even look like a pen.
But maybe it's time I added another marker to my life and bought myself a pen. Let the writing begin!
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