Destined to be a pen nerd

My love for fountain pens, or pens in general, started in my parents' attic. Our attic was only accessible by means of very unpractical pull down folding stairs, so we didn't come there very often. Which naturally meant I was intrigued by the place and climbed up there whenever I had the opportunity. My favorite treasures up there were my dad's cameras, his Märklin train set and his old desk. The desk itself was just an unsightly, cumbersome piece of furniture, but the middle drawer was a true treasure trove for an inquisitive gnome. It was filled with all sorts of exotic office supplies. Not just the average pens, pencils and paperclips, but also tools and measuring devices I had no clue about and found utterly fascinating. Sadly, by the time I got taught how to use a protractor, my fascination had already declined severely.

The Pen that started it all
My favorite object in the drawer was a pale blue Boston fountain pen. Every time I was up in the attic, I would take it out of the drawer and stand by the tiny window at the opposite side of the room. I loved how the pen gleamed in the light and how it would reveal depth and pearlescence depending on the angle at which I looked at it. I could not figure out how the butt of the pen (which I recently found out is called the finial) could be the same color as the pen one moment and be completely dark the next. And that golden nib looked like something straight out of a movie!

My dad's Märklin locomotive, his old Olympus camera and of course: The Pen*.

I want a fountain pen
Sadly, we didn't get to use fountain pens in school. We did learn to write cursive, but with really crappy ballpoint pens that would skip and smear. Also, they were utterly boring, which bugged me even more than the skipping and smearing did. Young and naive as I was, I was absolutely convinced that if I had a pen as beautiful and extraordinary as the one in our attic, my handwriting would automatically become beautiful and extraordinary as well. So by the time I moved on to secondary school (where you got to bring your own pen!) I had a very short wishlish: I wanted a fountain pen.

My first fountain pen
So I started saving up my pocket money in a fountain pen fund. When finally I'd saved up enough, I got on my bike, cycled 10 km to the nearest V&D (big warehouse, sadly no longer in existence) and bought my very first fountain pen. A shockingly pink Parker pen. And I hated it. My handwriting stayed as crappy as it was, and worse: this pen skipped, smeared as much as the others and to top it off: it leaked. But it looked awesome, so I still considered it an upgrade. I simply put it on my desk to look at, and do the actual writing with a Parker Jotter ballpoint. Problem solved.

Yup, these are my actual diary and school supplies from 1991! 

I think I chose this diary just for the pictures of The Thunderbirds...

*Anyone who can tell me more about the brand of this pen (Boston) or the year it was from? My dad had this pen for ages, but he can't remember any of the particulars.