03.31.2008
Don’t hate me because my handwriting’s beautiful
If I were writing this with a pencil, you probably couldn’t read it.
But, if I were among the winners of the annual Zaner-Bloser National Handwriting Contest, you would absorb every written word as if it were a morsel of heavenly goodness, marveling at the shape of my letters, gasping at the perfection of my slant and finally collapsing into a puddle of pure joy at the precision of my spacing.
“Cut this one out, Helen, and put it on the ‘fridge. The words don’t make much sense but the handwriting is like the Mona Lisa’s smile.”
Zaner-Bloser, a publisher of handwriting programs for students in kindergarten through eighth grade, recently announced state winners of its contest. The company will soon crown a national champion.
That letter-perfect girl or boy will win a Nintendo game package, a $500 savings bond and an opportunity to be beaten senseless on the playground by jealous bullies yelling, “Gutenberg invented the printing press for a reason, calligraphy dork!” (These would be fairly well-read bullies.)
Zaner-Bloser wasn’t around my neck of the woods when I was a first-grader with stubby fingers gripping a fat starter pencil, slashing it down Norman Bates-style in an attempt to form something that looked like a letter that wasn’t part of my name, which was pretty much all I could write at the time.
Though long swept into oblivion by the winds of time, I’m sure that first report card included a note from the teacher:
“In addition to conduct, one area of great concern is young Scott’s handwriting. Holding the pencil as if it were a dagger or ice pick, the completed worksheets are little more than perforated or shredded paper, which he proclaims to be a ‘story.’ He has damaged two desks and destroyed 12 fat starter pencils, which, I remind you, are twice as costly as regular pencils. If this continues, the county will have to consider a bond referendum to purchase additional fat starter pencils.”
But, through hard work, perseverance and the occasional head smack not included in today’s grade-school curriculum, my handwriting improved.
“Now able to hold a pencil correctly, young Scott is well on his way to someday being able to write something that someone can read. While his sentences currently appear to be composed entirely of Egyptian hieroglyphs and backward letters from the standard alphabet, I and the school system are pleased that he is no longer stabbing his worksheets and destroying fat starter pencils which are currently on backorder.”
As my school career progressed, I continued to struggle with handwriting, especially cursive, until developing a style that was semi-legible - ALL CAPITAL LETTERS. IT ALSO MADE EVERYTHING I WROTE SEEM IMPORTANT AND URGENT. BUT IT WAS NOT VERY GOOD FOR LOVE NOTES.
“DO YOU LIKE ME? CHECK YES OR NO. DO NOT MAKE ME STAB YOU WITH A FAT STARTER PENCIL, BECAUSE I AM APPARENTLY CRAZY.”
That handwriting style worked until I became a reporter and covered the cops and courts beat for a decade, transcribing everything that happened in red-hot, small-town Superior Court cases. Between long periods of down time where everyone milled around the courtroom and yawned, there were bursts of trial action where I scribbled as fast as I possibly could. My handwriting deteriorated into an illegible scrawl. That led to uncomfortable discussions about the copy I turned in.
“Are you sure the key piece of evidence was a donkey?”
“It was either a donkey or a door key. I wrote it down here in my notes. See?”
“That looks like Egyptian hieroglyphs and backward letters from the standard alphabet.”
“I know. Have those fat starter pencils I requested come in?”
So, good luck state winners of the Zaner-Bloser National Handwriting contest as you move on to national competition. I would write each of you a congratulatory note, but, trust me, you wouldn’t be able to read it.
.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)