It wasn't for nothing; it made the nasty old man-haters feel fabulous!
Rulers? Wow. You must have gone to a sissy school. They hit us with yardsticks, unless there was something deadlier nearer at hand.
My paternal grandfather had died while my dad was a child.
He was a pharmacist. So the joke around our house was that was too bad because he was likely the only one in the family who could have read my handwriting.
Don’t kid yourself. It wasn’t just writing practice.
When I was 7-years old, I used to take piano lessons in a convent garden house, presided over by an Austrian nun. She used to smack my little fingers with a hard wooden ruler. Ouch!