I recently read a piece in The Atlantic by historian and former Harvard University President Drew Gilpin Faust, on how the absence of cursive writing in US classrooms translates to a significant loss of an essential method of communication. Unbeknownst to me, cursive writing was removed from Common Core curriculum in 2010, thereby rendering it obsolete. The author made a brilliant, compelling case for why there is tragedy in the decision.
In a 2016 interview for the publication Education Week, Sue Pimentel, one of the lead writers of the English/language arts standards, explained that the decision to remove cursive writing was about priorities—and that learning to use technology took precedence. While I’m not going to rant about the incessant presence of technology in primary school classrooms (oops, perhaps a tiny rant!), I believe Ms. Gilpin Faust’s thesis about the far-reaching impact of such decisions is critical to weigh. Will younger generations have the means to read original manuscripts or other documents, such as handwritten letters, that are, by definition, historical and relevant? What about the box of letters found in attics everywhere from long-ago relatives? What about, what about, what about?!!
I was in my twenties when first introduced to the nearly 200,000 original manuscripts at the Huntington Library in San Marino, California. I was moved by the handwritten words of poets William Blake, Emily Dickinson, and Walt Whitman, and novelists Samuel Clemens, Mary Austin, Mark Twain, Charles Bukowski, Paul Theroux, Henry David Thoreau, and many others. Unexpectedly my heart galloped, and I remember thinking that what moves me should always have a say. In other words, it wasn’t frivolous to feel something. And at that moment I equated the pursuit of meaning to feeling deeply about what mattered. Without Mrs. Wilson’s third-grade cursive instruction I may not have connected with the language of my kindred spirits.
It used to be that lives were traced through recipe files: the first dishes one learns to make; the fancy dishes made to impress company; the cookies and cakes made so often that the recipes are no longer needed. When our mother died a few years ago, my sister and I had the daunting and incapacitating task of sorting and disbursing her cherished possessions. One afternoon we sat with Mom’s recipe box and marveled at instructions for chicken country captain, shrimp gumbo, green tomato pickle, piccalilli (what the heck is piccalilli?), and spoonbread. While Dorothy-Mom was known for her impeccable print writing, grandmother Lois had a unique, sometimes unreadable cursive style (numerous Lois recipes were in the box, as well). Seeing that there are two cups of consommé and a cup of seedless raisons in lamb curry gave me a longing for and closeness to someone I hadn’t seen for well over 30 years. (For the record, please don’t ever serve me lamb.) I stared at each 3 x 5 card as if my life depended on it, as if doing so would bring my people home.
Cultural and social changes have been beacons of both historical and contemporary life. A current and significant example is that we are losing the ability to welcome opposing points of view. It used to be engagement in public discourse on important issues with an open-minded respect for opposing views was the norm. A self-aware person realizes that s/he might be wrong. This notion that I may not know the answer is basis for the “scientific method” and the antithesis of “wokeness.” There are numerous less significant examples (where, oh where are the quill pens?), but who deems these changes as significant, or less than? Is it purely personal? Perhaps (after all, Drew Gilpin Faust states that her own cursive writing is her superpower). All I am suggesting is that there may be a piece of us left behind when age-old tides shift.
Am I old? Yes-ish. Are my opinions antiquated? Dunno. On the one hand there is a great deal about the past that we are better off without; on the other, said lost piece may very well hold value in that it fostered connections. In a cursiveless world, we may no longer touch the words of our long-ago selves in ways that truly make us better humans and this, to me, seems both tragic and irresponsible. Honing the ability to read the words of our foremothers and fathers teaches empathy and builds capacity for curiosity and when this happens, connections are made. Drew Gilpin Faust laments that by losing connections, we are disempowering ourselves. I agree and add that by losing connections we potentially lose opportunities to feel something profound.
Mary Daniel is a Certified Integrative Nutrition Health Coach dedicated to the pursuit of good health for everyone. Through her business, Your One Precious Life, she partners with clients and communities and in the spirit of collaboration, paves the way for health transformations.
Interested in a free health consultation? Visit: www.youronepreciouslife.com or email mary@youronepreciouslife.com.
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