Adapting to modern innovations.

My Dad learned to type later in life. In the mid-1970s, he replaced the Royal typewriter with an electric model.

Years later, Dad had trouble writing with a pen because of pain and weakness in his right elbow. When I moved to Italy, Dad regularly sent me vivid, typewritten letters. I still have those letters, and when I look at this photo, I imagine Dad constucting a narrative for me.

Suburban Chicago, March 1979. Dad wears the zippered, gray cardigan that Mom knitted for him. I still wear that sweater around the house.