The Curse Of Cursive

My kindergarten teacher only taught me two letters of the alphabet: the letter "D" and the letter "O".  She never mentioned that there were more than two letters in the alphabet.  She never even taught me "U" and "G", so I could spell my name: D-O-U-G.

Looking back, I think what she needed was an identifying mark for me to put in the corner of my finger paintings so she could tell my finger paintings from all the other finger paintings in the class.  I am guessing that there was no Donald and no Doris in my Kindergarten class, so “DO” was distinctive enough. 

It was up to the first grade teacher to teach all 26 letters in the alphabet, both capital and small.  Now I could write Dick and Jane and Spot and Doug.  Things were going great until I hit third grade.

The third grade teacher told us that the system of handwriting that we knew, called printing, was inferior.  We now needed to learn a whole new system of handwriting, called cursive.  Suddenly, I had to think about shape (a capital cursive "A" does not look like a capital printed "A"). I had to think about connectivity (you were not allowed to lift your pen from the paper until the end of a word -- unless the word started with a capital "D").  I had to think about proportion (two-thirds of a small cursive “f” must be above the line and one-third must be below). 

Worst of all, the teacher graded me on how my writing looked --- not on what my writing said.

I went along with the program until sixth grade.  I was eleven years old, and I knew that I did not want people to look at my writing --- I wanted people to read my writing.  

I went up to my sixth-grade teacher and whined: do I really have to write in cursive?  She struck a deal with me: I would write in cursive in sixth grade, but once I graduated and went on to junior high school, I could print everything.

I looked forward to junior high with great anticipation.

From age twelve on, I never wrote in cursive again. Once I broke the chains, I was a happy writer.  Not only was I a happy writer, I was a focused writer.  My printing was very legible --- I was aware that other people could easily read what I wrote, so I had better write something worth reading. 

I lived cursive free until I joined the army. 

To get my monthly pay from Uncle Sam I had to salute, speak my serial number, and sign.  I would salute the commanding officer and say, “US52764669 reporting for pay, Sir.”  Then I had to write my name in the pay book in cursive; the army called this a “payroll signature”.

I still haven’t gotten rid of the cursive in my signature, but to me cursive is dead.  It died on the last day of sixth grade in 1955.  I don’t miss it one bit.

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com