EDITORIAL: Handwriting: An Obsolete Skill?

November 13, 2024

Updated: November 13, 2024

It was a chillingly cold day in my Schenectady‌ home, the kind that is typical ⁣of New York winters, when⁣ I found myself face to face with ⁤a thought ⁢that was even more chilling⁤ than the weather outside. As ‌I⁣ sat there trying to ‍scribble a heartfelt note‌ to a friend, I realized how⁣ rusted my ⁣handwriting skills had become. I ‍have ⁢been using⁣ a computer, an⁤ iPad, perhaps even a ⁢smartphone for too long. True, these gadgets have revolutionized our world, made our tasks‍ easier; but what ‌have they really done for us and what are we exchanging for convenience?

In my day,⁤ kids were taught handwriting in school. It was a skill as important as ⁣multiplication⁤ tables ‌and identifying the fifty states. ⁢You’d think‍ I’m ranting, maybe even stuck in⁤ the past. But the truth is, the rigor⁢ that used to go ‌into the art of handwriting, the discipline‍ it required,⁢ the focus it needed, instilled characteristics that are increasingly lost in a world too quick to⁢ embrace convenience ‌over effort.

Does ‍anybody else from Schenectady remember‍ those posters⁢ in our classrooms, the ones that depicted the⁤ letters of the ‍alphabet in perfectly formed handwriting, both ‌lower case and uppercase?⁢ Of course, we used⁢ to complain about it. The‍ discipline, the rigidity‍ of it all seemed excessive. Yet, years later, I‍ understand the value of that ancient‍ art. ‍Each stroke, each curve had a function, performing the cogently important job ⁤of representing a prominent language, in ‍a way that is not just legible, but also to some extent, beautiful.

As someone who makes ‍his living out of words, ‌I see myself as a craftsman, and my craft ‌is built on the ‍foundation of‌ that classic skill – handwriting. There’s a certain intrinsic value to able ⁢to write out your thoughts by hand, seeing those ideas‍ take‍ physical form on⁣ the paper.⁤ It feels ⁢like an intimate conversation between the mind and the ink.

A⁣ few ⁢months ago,⁤ I had⁢ visited my grandniece’s school. ⁤The ⁣sight of those ‍empty bulletin boards, bereft of the handwriting posters, stirred a certain⁢ melancholy within me. Apparently, children⁣ nowadays are taught to ⁢type on keyboards at an age where ⁤we would be⁢ learning ⁤to wield a pencil for the first time. While it’s a handy skill to have in today’s digitized world, not teaching them to write by hand, it⁣ doesn’t feel right.

Don’t ‍get me wrong. I am no cave-man. I appreciate the⁢ touchscreens and the⁢ keyboards. ‌They’re marvellous⁤ inventions. But ⁤I staunchly believe that⁣ there’s something inherently grounding about handwriting.‍ Each curve, each line you draw, it’s almost‌ like you’re shaping a piece of your‍ thoughts, molding them into something physical for the world to ⁢see.

When I ⁣was twelve, my Aunt Mae from Schenectady sent me a letter. It was a handwritten note, like⁢ all of them were in those days. Aunt Mae had ⁤a beautiful‍ handwriting, flowing and firm. From her letters,⁤ I knew more⁣ about her than‌ just what she was saying. ⁢Even ‌when⁣ she didn’t express it, her desolation at losing Uncle Jack was evident in her trembling handwriting.

Now, think about this. ⁣When you unleash⁤ a document onto⁢ the world these days, there’s nothing really personal about it. Other than the content,⁤ everyone’s document looks ⁢the same. Same fonts, ⁢same styles, same spacing. It’s as though ‍a piece of our ⁢identity ⁣has been digitized, transformed into a preset, easy-to-replicate form. To me, it seems that we have lost a slice of our ‍individuality with ⁤the disappearance of handwriting.

When ⁤you find my friend George⁣ Washington’s choppy signature on‍ the Declaration of Independence ‍or my shaky childish scrawl on the letter⁣ my mother saved till her last day, it’s a physical imprint we’ve ⁢left behind, a⁣ slice ‌of ourselves preserved. Can we claim ⁤the same of ⁢the electronic documents, with the deadpan Times New⁢ Roman?

It’s ‌not merely a manifestation of the grumpy, middle-aged man that I am, ‍dwelling too much on the past. ‌It’s the impassioned plea of‌ someone⁣ who values the beauty in what’s obsolete. It’s a hope that this art ⁤isn’t ⁣completely‍ swamped in the speedy currents of the future. It’s⁤ a cry against erasing an important ‌part of who we are,⁢ or at least, who we were.

Even now, as‌ the frost forms intricate patterns on my Schenectady window and my once firm ‍grip fumbles with the pen, I cannot help‌ but ⁤cherish this personal act of creation. No keyboard, no touch screen can replicate the pleasure and ‌the calming rhythm of pen scribing on paper.

My dear Schenectady, raise your beverages of‌ choice and let’s make a toast: Here’s to handwriting.‍ Here’s hoping it knows the art of ⁤survival. Because, in an era of rushed living ‍and quick fixes, the world could do with the⁢ slowed-down elegance of⁣ a well-formed alphabet.

Brian McCarthy

I'm Brian McCarthy! At your service to offer traditionally informed perspective on today's issues. Some call it out of touch; I call it time-honored wisdom.