The Handwriting Is on the Wall

Well, as someone who did have a good three or four years of being pounded for having rotten handwriting (as opposed to having fairly neat printing skills) the shock of this may have me lying on the chaise lounge with a handkerchief dipped in eu de cologne on my forehead. Yes, I do remember all those little charts with all the cursive letters carefully diagrammed with little arrows showing where my own pencil was supposed to go to scribe those lovely slanting oval shapes… but I was usually in too much of a hurry to get my thoughts down on paper to produce anything more elegant than a fierce scribble that looked like a large spider on crack had stumbled through a pool of ink and then went staggering across the page. Cursive… I thought it was called that because that’s what I was doing under my breath when I had to turn in anything written in it. Certainly it’s what any teachers grading my papers were doing, as they tried to decipher my resulting output. About the only good thing for cursive was it did conceal certain shortcomings in my ability to spell… and since the invention of spell-check, that benefit is long gone.

A moment of silence, for the death of handwriting…. And then let the revels commence.

Sgt. Mom is a freelance writer and retired Air Force NCO who blogs at and lives in San Antonio, Texas.

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