Jeez, I remember when I used to write like that! Sort of…but not really. Actually, my cursive was always more akin to a drunk, blind, mentally frail chicken scratching at a piece of paper with a pen that’s recently exploded all over its pristine claw.
But on the plus side, I can actually read that image above, and as frightening as it sounds to anyone born before December 31, 1999, that is now actually considered a skill.
Do I show my age by bemoaning the lost art of cursive and its gradual disappearance from our schools and the fabric of our everyday lives?
If so, good on me!
Mark Oppenheimer (@) wrote (though not in cursive) a heartbreaking piece (for sentimental farts like me) in The New Yorker called “The Lost Virtue of Cursive” about one man’s fight to keep the storied craft alive, if only to communicate with his children in a world overrun by the typed word and – if this trend keeps up – emoji and emoticons.
Perhaps this calls for a revolution. We’ll call it #BringBackCursive, but we’ll type it out on a keyboard and ensure it comes complete with a hashtag.