Is cursive cursed?

“What a touching note from your student from last term,” my lovely wife, Grace, stated. 

 

She was holding a card I received from a young man I helped with employment interviews during his last year of college. Before I could reply, she added, “I’m sure you appreciate the effort and words of gratitude. I do, too, but I guess I am just a bit old school.”

 

When I gave her a puzzled look, she held the card up. “Nobody writes in cursive anymore,” she explained.

 

“You are right on, sister!” declared my Aunt Toogie, who was sitting with us at the kitchen island but had been immersed in a game of Wordle on her phone.

 

Grace replied, “I’ll show you what I mean,” and retreated to her desk. She returned with several pieces of paper and laid them on the counter and began to describe each one.

 

“This one has notes on a bill from the guy who trimmed the trees and bushes. Next is an invitation to a party next week. Here’s a card for a future appointment at the doctor. And a thank you note from the couple to whom we gave a baby gift. What do you see on all of them?”

 

“Printing. Block letters,” Toogie sighed, peering at the evidence. “Just like we did in grammar school before we learned to write the right way.”

 

“I rest my case,” Grace exclaimed, “Cursive is a dying art.”

 

Feeling a need to join the conversation, I offered, “Maybe people today are just used to what they see on their computers and phones.”

 

“That’s true,” Grace answered, “but it’s worse than that. We recently discussed this topic with our friend, Jeff. Many schools today teach keyboarding but don’t teach cursive handwriting.”

 

After a pause, Toogie threw me under the bus. “Hey Dalton, you’re a printer. I’ve seen it when you make up those fantasy football lineups or liquor store shopping lists.”

 

When I didn’t look up to see Grace’s reaction, she piled on. “He’s been a printer for years. Probably never learned cursive. It shows in his poor spelling.”

 

Then she and Toogie were off to the races on the many other benefits of learning cursive.

 

“Helps you focus more on the content than just the words,” Toogie proclaimed.

 

“And helps you develop a thought and retain more information,” Grace added.

 

“Uses the entire brain. Might even provide a hint into one’s personality.”

 

“Improves motor skills and eye-hand coordination.”

 

“That explains a lot about Dalton’s golf game,” Toogie chuckled.

 

Feeling a need, now, to defend myself, I explained, “I did study cursive in grade school. Although I remember having trouble with the capital letter Q. Looked a lot like the number two, which never made sense.”

 

“I rest my case,” Grace muttered. 

 

I think I heard Toogie whisper, “Arrested development.”

 

A few weeks later our granddaughter, Mary, came to visit with her parents. We celebrated her birthday. She likes art and drawing pictures. One rainy day, with a trip to the pool on hold, Grace asked her if she was learning cursive in school. She was not, which immediately re-ignited Grace’s teacher genes. She got out lined paper and a Zaner-Blosser handwriting workbook. Soon she and Mary were making upper and lower case cursive letters, including the weird capital Q. Mary seemed to absorb and enjoy it, although her interest turned back to swimming when the sunshine returned.

 

The next day, I got an idea I knew Grace would like. Whenever Mary visits, she enjoys a scavenger hunt in the house. I write rhyming clues, on slips of paper, that lead her from clue to clue. When she makes it to the final destination, there is a sweet treat. A clue might

read something like:

 

 “Tip toe as softly as you can, be as quiet as a mouse.

 

 You will find the next clue in the coldest place in the house.”

 

The next clue would then be in the refrigerator or freezer. Mary loves solving the clue and then dashing to the correct spot to find the next clue. The idea hit me. Why not write the clues in cursive to reinforce the lesson Grace had been instructing? That evening, when I announced a scavenger hunt, Mary was pumped. I gave her the first clue. She studied it, looking at the paper, then at me, then toward Grace. She showed it to Grace.

 

“It looks like the cursive letters we practiced yesterday,” Grace prompted.

 

Mary smiled and the light bulb was lit. She dashed upstairs to the room where she was staying.

 

“I bet she is getting the pages we did,” Grace smiled.

 

“I hope there are no capital Qs on the clue,” Toogie chortled.

 

Soon Mary was back with the clue properly solved, which she read out loud, and then dashed off to find the next clue. She followed a consistent game plan, clue by clue. 

 

Each new clue was first taken upstairs. Then she returned, read it out loud to us, and raced to a place in the house to find the next clue – all the way to the prized finish. When the game was finished, Grace gave Mary a big hug.

 

“I’m proud of you, Honey,” Grace cooed. “Did you use the worksheets we did yesterday to read Pop Pop’s cursive?”

 

Mary shrugged and gestured a no with a slight shake of her head.

 

“Did you memorize it from yesterday?” Grace inquired.

 

Again Mary gave a negative nod, grinned, and asked, “Want to know how I did it, Mimi?”

 

“Yes, dear,” Grace answered, with her hands on Mary’s shoulders.

 

Mary reached in her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “Well,” she intoned, “Pop Pop’s cursive words weren’t as nice as the ones you showed me. They were hard to read. So I used an app on my phone to translate cursive into regular letters.”

 

Grace forced a smile, said something about how clever Mary was, and gave her another hug. With that Mary was off, with her scavenger hunt lollipop prize, to play a video game. 

 

After a quiet interlude, Grace remarked softly, “Well, it wasn’t a total failure. She learned something about cursive and, hey, Dalton even tried to write it.” 

 

“I say it was a win for Mary and for you,” Toogie remarked, patting Grace’s arm. When I looked at her and gestured toward myself, Toogie added, “Hey, two out of three ain’t bad.”

 

“I think I could use a drink,” Grace sighed. “Dalton, would you make me one of your Manhattans?”

 

As I rose to fix the beverage, Toogie held up two fingers. When I gave her an inquiring look, she explained, “Me, too, Mr. Block Print. Make it a capital Q.”