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When I was a little boy, Logo is how my grandfather taught me to program. He had an Amstrad computer that he used to keep the books of his insurance business, and when I was three years old or so, he noticed my interest in the machine and set about to teach me. The Amstrad used standard 5 1/4” inch floppies and had (if I recall) two such drives; he showed me how to put the correct disk in and close the latch, and boot the computer. (Important: which side goes up.) And he taught me some very basic commands for the cursor, the “turtle”: up down, forward, turning, etc. My first lesson in degrees. He tried to explain subroutines but I couldn’t quite get it at that age. Well, I thought it was cool, and played for a long afternoon by myself. When he came to check on me, he found that I’d gone into a room near his office to play with my toys very quietly. He asked: Oh, did you not like playing with the computer? And I said nothing. Very quiet. And he said, what happened? I said, a red light came on and it broke. :( The Amstrad’s Caps Lock key had a red light when activated. The case sensitive Logo language thereby ceased working and the characters all looked different to me. So, evidently, I ran away, thinking I had broken my grandfather’s important work machine. Barely containing his laughter, I am sure, he escorted me back into his office and explained what had happened. He regaled me with the story for the rest of his life; when he died a few years ago, it leapt to my mind. Some years later I would end up with a B.S. in computer science and it is hard to see how it would have been so but for his decision to teach a three year old boy Logo. In conclusion, Logo—and grandfathers—kick ass. |