My father was given a text machine. The screen was dark green, the writing light green. We were delighted... It couldn't do anything a typewriter couldn't, except saving. We wrote pages just for the fun of saving.
My friend M's family bought a computer. With DOS and some ancient Windows type. She taught me to use Paint. So I painted. And nearby fainted everytime the machine brought Dos back on...
I went to study in England. They had a computer room. I didn't go there - why should I, having brought a typewriter from Norway! (This was 1989, this must be said.) Still, the class was given an introductory course to computers. There were three of us for each machine. Huge, square, black-screened machines.
I learnt how to turn it on and off. So did the other two on my machine. That was about all we had time for.
I went home at the end of the year, still carrying my typewriter . . .