I recently took my teenage daughter, Ava, to the post office to renew her passport. After waiting in a long line, sorting through legal documents, and paying a slew of fees, the clerk behind the counter handed Ava a pen, slid the last form in front of her, and asked her to sign her name.
Ava held the ballpoint pen in her hand for several seconds before panic spread across her face. “Can’t I just print it?” she asked, which made the lady behind the counter scowl. “No, I need a signature. And not just squiggles and dots.” Ava nervously scribbled something that would barely pass muster on a doctor’s prescription pad. The clerk took one look at the chicken scratch and shook her head.
John Hancock, I thought, was rolling in his grave.
My daughter tried again and the clerk, perhaps too exhausted to argue, finally gave her the stamp of approval. But back in the car, Ava broke down and cried. For a kid who prides herself on being competent and well-prepared, the experience had been humiliating. Besides, she argued, she and her friends were never schooled in the art of the signature — so was it fair to judge her generation for lacking what is apparently a basic life skill?
San Francisco kids don’t spend much time learning penmanship — aka cursive or script. In 2010, the Common Core State Standards dropped its requirement that it be taught in public elementary schools, so across the nation it gradually became a curricular afterthought. In 2016, California was one of a handful of states to bring handwriting instruction back, but only to a limited extent. By that time, iPads and laptops were already dominating the classroom scene and most schools had pushed the study of penmanship aside.
As the world spends an increasing amount of time on electronic devices, are handwriting skills even needed?
My kids got a superficial education in penmanship in the third grade, with the help of a program called Handwriting Without Tears. For a few minutes a week, they practiced pencil grip and letter formation, but because their school didn’t dedicate a lot of classroom time to the subject, they never became proficient. My daughter said she originally developed a signature, but then quickly forgot it, because after third grade no one required her to write in cursive again. Since middle school, my children have composed school research papers and essays on their computers, and although their science lab notebooks and creative writing journals are still a pencil-meets-paper affair, they use block letters instead of script.
In elementary school, my classmates and I spent hours learning how to write in cursive. I practiced signing my name in my black-and-white speckled composition notebook until I developed a one-of-a-kind autograph.
As the world spends an increasing amount of time on electronic devices, are handwriting skills even needed? Kids who are old enough to produce a signature certainly don’t write letters to their friends; they text or DM. If they need to write a note, they more often than not default to print, not longhand. And on the rare occasion when a signature is required — like on an iPad at the boba shop checkout counter — a finger-drawn squiggle will usually suffice. Heck, my husband and I signed our house sale papers via Docusign, so it’s clear that we can all get by these days without a ballpoint pen.
Until we can’t. Last year my eighth-grade son was applying to high schools and needed to send handwritten thank-yous to admissions directors. He had no idea how to format a letter and address an envelope, never mind where and how to sign his name at the bottom right of the card. We went through the process together, step-by-step. Another time, as he watched me signing a check — something I rarely do these days — he looked on with curiosity. Realizing that no one had schooled him in the art of check writing, but also accepting that it was a skill he may never need, I gave him a brief tutorial.
How different it was when this Gen Xer was a kid. In elementary school, my classmates and I spent hours learning how to write in cursive. I practiced signing my name in my black-and-white speckled composition notebook until I developed a one-of-a-kind autograph. I was obsessed with the way a little swan logo sat atop Gloria Vanderbilt’s name on my favorite pair of jeans, and tried to incorporate that cygnet into my own signature. When I had a crush, I put a “Mrs.” before the name of my objet d’affection and wistfully filled an entire diary page with my dreamy future moniker. (Who knew I would grow up to be a feminist, adamant on retaining her last name after marriage.)
I fear that as signatures go the way of the manual typewriter, future generations will miss out. They may never experience the nervous pleasure of signing a love letter and dropping it in the mail. They may never sign a check for a significant amount of money, then rip it dramatically out of a checkbook in a “Yes, I’ve finally paid off this college loan!” euphoria. (Hitting “send” on Venmo isn’t nearly as satisfying.) Some may not even be able to read a birthday card from Grandma, whose flowery cursive will be regarded as old-fashioned and quaint — as if it’s not already.
Each year, I receive fewer holiday cards in the mail and more through email and Instagram. I almost missed a funeral or two when services were announced on Facebook rather than the obituary page.
A friend who teaches at a San Francisco public high school reminded me that inscribing names other than one’s own is also a dying art. As a teenager, she occasionally forged her mom’s name at the bottom of a fake absence letter to get herself out of gym class. But these days, she said, hardly any of her students attempt that little trick.
You also don’t see many kids — or even adults — browsing in the greeting card aisle at stores, which explains why stationery chain Papyrus just shuttered its doors and Hallmark Cards announced a business overhaul that will incorporate a larger online presence. Although some of us still like to put cards in the mail or distribute them in person, almost everyone now sends birthday, anniversary, and holiday greetings on social media. Last month, my husband received a group birthday card from co-workers via an online app. Each year, I receive fewer holiday cards in the mail and more through email and Instagram. I almost missed a funeral or two when services were announced on Facebook rather than the obituary page.
It’s clear we are going in a handwriting-free, paperless direction. This is great for the environment, but are there costs? Apparently, I’m not the only one to wonder, as several books lamenting the disappearance of penmanship have recently emerged. The Lost Art of Handwriting by Brenna Jordan, The Art of Cursive Penmanship by Michael R. Sull, and The Magic of Handwriting by Christine Nelson all postulate that handwriting is one of the most important ways humans leave tracks of their existence — in a far more personal way than computers could ever enable us.
Studies show that penmanship provides academic benefits as well. Experts say writing in cursive boosts brain development in the areas of thinking, language, and working memory, and that children composing text by hand can more quickly generate words and ideas. A UCLA/Princeton study found that college students remember lectures better when they’ve taken handwritten notes rather than typed ones, and the College Board determined that students who wrote in cursive for the essay portion of the SAT scored slightly higher than those who printed.
So maybe cursive — like all things retro — is slated to make a comeback. Until then, the up-and-coming generation will continue to send “hbd” text greetings to friends, announce their adoration for crushes on Snapchat, and yes, hold up passport renewal lines across America.