a sad sign of the times – handwriting has been phased out schools. (or you can listen here)

i’m a sentimental fool and always have been. as a kid i went annually to sleep-away camp in the catskill mountains of upstate new york. at the end of the summer there were always tearful heartfelt goodbyes with girlfriends and solemn promises to keep in touch. long distance calls were too expensive in those days, so we wrote letters. long earnest letters reminiscing about boys we’d been secretly in love with, or stuck-up popular girls whom we were equal parts resentful and jealous of, or the kind of cheesy fun you can only have at camp where everyone else is acting just as goofy. these were letters written on carefully selected stationery – something not too childish (like puppies or dolls) but still playful and pretty, like butterflies or flowers. some had special pens with purple ink and dotted their”i”s with hearts or smilies. and found next to the signature was always a code of some type – the popular “b.f.f.” (best friends forever) or more individual “i.l.d.a.a.f.” (i love danny always and forever) or generic “s.w.a.k.” (sealed with a kiss). getting a letter was special, but writing a letter was an indicator of loyalty. you never make friends like those you make at camp, and those letters tell the story of the kind of pure friendship that doesn’t exist amongst adults.

as i got older, handwriting became a hallmark of maturity. neat essays and even script signified a serious scholastic effort and were rewarded by teachers. high school girls vied amongst themselves for the unofficial title of “best handwriting”, unabashedly seeking compliments by putting their own penmanship down. some slyly emulated others. boys avoided using cursive at all costs, afraid of seeming too feminine if they cared about careful script. block printing was far more manly. and so my first love letter from a boy was written in tiny hand, all capitals, taking pains to look just the tiniest bit slapdash – but he hinted at his true feelings by using the special blue paper i’d given him as a gift. it was 6 pages, front and back, and it came mailed with a mix tape. on the last page he used the “l” word for the first time. i smelled that letter and traced the words with my finger. i wore that letter out until we broke up only a few months later. but i still have it.

and when we embarked on our trip, i brought along a large notebook. over hours and miles of endless bus journeys i wrote about my experiences and thoughts in bumpy fashion. i crossed out and contemplated, my mind racing faster than my fingers as i mentally edited and re-wrote. some of my best journal entries were the result of several re-readings, and it was only when we at last arrived at an internet cafe and i typed them up for permanent publishing that they got final approval. there is something about the act of putting pen to paper which inspires creativity in a way no keyboard can. it is the thread which ties together my girlhood and adolescence – the kid who carefully wrote back to every cabin-mate on the camp mailing list so she would have friends the following summer, the one who wrote passionately to her teen boyfriend hoping he missed her, the one who traded freshman tales of woe with friends at far-flung colleges. my handwriting documented all of these, and it has matured and changed as i have. it reflects my personality – unique, a little messy, a lot exuberant. it looks similar to my dad’s handwriting and is carefully practiced to get the most my long name on a short signature line. i still write in a paper diary and send cards in the mail. i still like getting the increasingly rare letter.

and so i am saddened that children no longer learn handwriting. it makes me sad to know i will likely never get to see my niece piper dot her “i”s with little bubbles or hearts. it makes me feel old to think that i have lived to see letter writing pass into extinction. i don’t know why this one change brings out such nostalgia but it does. some essential connection has been lost.

i still save text phone messages and emails… but it’s not the same.

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