I have a confession: I can’t write worth a darn.
That’s really hard for a writer to admit, but it’s true. I didn’t get the gene.
I think it’s mostly a female gene. My sisters have it. They write beautifully. I only know two men who have it — one is a priest and the other is a graphic designer. They write beautifully, too.
But me — I long ago gave up even trying. I was a good little student in elementary school, but that one class, particularly in 3rd grade, was my nemesis.
Handwriting. Penmanship. Palmer method. Cursive. Many names for something I failed miserably at.
It was always right in front of me, but so far away. The letters, capital and small, broken down with dotted lines so you could see the proportions of each part, marching across the front of the room over the blackboard. We’d practice and practice, doing “rockers” and “rollers” with our pencils (pens didn’t come into play until much later), with lined paper and plain, trying to train our hands and fingers to remember the motions of the strokes. I don’t know what “method” it was, but I do know it never stuck. And it never felt right — T’s and F’s with their little hats on top, those odd G’s and S’s,impossible Q’s like 2’s, those difficult small r’s. Did you start your capital letters with a little loop at the top or with a straight line or a slight curve? Every method was slightly different.
At one point in 3rd grade, I decided my handwriting would be better if it was much darker. So I started pressing as hard as I could. Miss Hunt noticed, telling me it was much easier to read (still ugly, but easier to read). I think I got a B that grading period instead of my usual C. I also got the start of the perpetual bump on my middle finger that persisted for many, many years and the fingernail that still never grows right.
I always wanted pretty handwriting and admire my sisters’ beautiful script. I practiced and practiced until I got my signature to where I liked it, copying my oldest sister’s style. Somewhere around 8th grade, I adopted another sister’s style of printing, what my 9th grade English teacher described as a “script-print,” and largely abandoned handwriting altogether.
I consider it a lost art, one I always notice in other people. A writer friend’s pretty hand…my dad’s unique style, almost German looking, like my grandma’s…the priest I mentioned, so flowing and smooth. The comfort of being able to know who sent you a card or letter simply by the writing on the envelope. Someday I’d like a print made up of quotes and poems I know and love, handwritten by people I know and love. How personal and special that would be!
Is it still a skill worth teaching? Children get very little instruction in handwriting now. The keyboard, and printing, are king. Does it matter? Does knowing how to write cursive make you smarter? I really don’t know, but I think if I had a child, I would make him or her learn the skill and practice it as long as I could. It just seems like what literate people should know how to do, along with knowing how to read others’ handwriting.
But I’m a fine one to talk. I just tried writing a few sentences — it felt odd. I had to think about it, and I still didn’t do it “right” — my script-print creeping in in spots. Once a bad writer…
How about you? Do you have memories, good or bad, of learning penmanship in school? Do you write or print? Can you write nicely if you want to? Or is the beautiful art lost on you, too?
There are thousands of thoughts lying within a man
that he does not know till he takes up the pen and writes.
~ William Makepeace Thackeray
Writing by Ear 