The #2 Pencil

The #2 Pencil
By G. E. Shuman

I remember, back in the ‘olden days’ when I was in grade school, say a hundred years or so ago, that there was something special, something almost sacred, about a number 2 pencil. Yes, a number 2 pencil. That, at least, was how it seemed to me at such an early age, from the way our teachers regarded them. I remember hearing at the beginning of many of those school years, of the importance of coming to school prepared to learn, and armed with several well-sharpened number 2 pencils. This was a theme repeated to us often throughout each year. I was never quite sure about our teachers’ affection for those particular pencils. Did the prim and proper way-too-up-tight school ladies of my time simply adore the number 2? Was it that if you were number 2 you actually did try harder? Was a number 2 pencil mark easier to erase? Was it easier to solve math problems with a number 2? Was I over-thinking this?

Not until several years into my decidedly small-town education did I learn that the 2 on a pencil referred to the hardness, or lack of hardness, of the lead of the pencil. Which, I learned several years later, was actually clay or something, and not lead at all, as we had always been told. (What other lies did those teachers of old tell us so many years ago? One I can think of was when my first grade teacher, Mrs. Jones, would go out for one of her frequent, brief, very important ‘conferences‘ with the teacher in the next classroom. She told us there were holes in the walls that she could see through, so we had better behave while she was gone. I wondered where those holes were, and why she always came back smelling like cigarettes after one of those conferences. That‘s a true story. I dare to tell it now because Mrs. Jones will no longer care. She was old when I was a child, and must have died from conference-induced lung cancer long ago.) Anyway, back to pencils. The number 2 actually meant that the pencil would write a nice dark line, unlike a number 1 pencil, the un-lead of which tended to be as hard as Mrs. Jones‘ ruler, and also hard to read.

Over those early years I learned a lot about the humble pencil. Even more than what the number printed on it meant. I learned that I liked the scent of freshly ground wood pencil shavings. (That must have been the outdoorsman in me.) I also learned how to balance a pencil on my finger, on another pencil, or on my nose. (I should have gone out for gymnastics.) The nose trick can get you into trouble in history class. I learned that chewing on a pencil made it yours, as much as a monogram on the pencil would have. No one else had your exact teeth marks, and no one wanted to steal your pencil after it had been in your mouth awhile. I learned then that if you borrow a pencil that had no teeth marks on it, don’t return it WITH teeth marks on it if the guy you borrowed it from is bigger than you. Likewise, if it already had teeth marks when you borrowed it, don’t add more of your own. You can catch something that way. I also learned that if you stick a freshly sharpened number 2 pencil into your or someone else’s upper leg, by accident or otherwise, there will be a non-lead dot of a tattoo there for years. Besides these valuable things, I learned that pencils can also be used to write with, draw with, and even mark measurements with, as carpenters do. (Has anyone learned yet any good reason why I am writing tonight about pencils? If so, I wish someone would tell me.)

I continued to learn much more about pencils. I learned that there were good erasers on some pencil ends, and ones that would just make a black smudge on your paper, boldly showing off your stupid mistakes, on others. I learned that those bubble gum-colored and similarly textured pencil ends taste exactly nothing like bubble gum. I learned how to hold a pencil by one end, wave it up and down in front of me, and make it appear to be as rubbery as those non-bubble gum ends are. (Don’t do this in class either.) I learned that even something as light as a little number 2 pencil can make your hand ache if you have done too many math problems with it, and that some days, too many math problems was not very many. Especially if the back of your hand had just had a run in with Mrs. Jones’ ruler. (I was in first grade a long time ago.) And I, unlike probably any other kid in my school, spent more than one study hall pondering how in the world they got those non-lead leads INTO pencils. I wondered why they bothered to do that at all, instead of just giving us slender chunks of non-lead to write with.

A pencil is a funny and ponderous thing. (Yes, I know I’m crazy. But I‘m not the one reading all of this.) A pencil starts out bright, and smooth-skinned, but as blunt and dull as anything can be. To be used, it needs to be made sharp, and ready for the task. It needs an educated shaping. A pencil’s hidden ability must be exposed, whittled away, and re-whittled, refreshed, renewed, from time to time. If it is allowed to once more become dull, it will be simply that… dull. It must remain sharp. In all of this, throughout the ‘life’ of a pencil, it can only do the good it was designed to do as it is spent, and slowly used up, over time. It may become scarred and scuffed. It does it’s job thanklessly, often even baring the tooth marks of the user.

Those good old yellow number two pencils still look just like they did when I was a child. And they still end their useful days worn, shortened a bit, and forever marked by time and experience. Some end with less eraser left than others, from more mistakes corrected. Hopefully, they leave a long trail of problems solved, marks measured, memories written, and valuable lessons recorded for others… Sort of like us.