Once upon a time we all learned penmanship. Grammar school children had big tablets with solid and dotted lines. We were taught to stretch our capital letters between the straight lines, and hit the dotted ones with the tops of small letters. It all looked like rows of boxes, some open and others closed.

I remember wanting desperately to learn to write. However, my undiagnosed dyslexia thwarted all efforts. My capital “E” had several extra horizontal lines, making it resemble a ladder without the all-important right brace.

Most children mastered printing fairly well in first and second grades. However, upon entering third grade we were introduced to the horrors of script. Those same tablets were filled with big loopy letters, esses and ques, aas, bees, and cees in long snaky strings of nonsense.

It was all terribly important. Children were required to write homework, “lines” (code word for punishment, such as “I will not talk in class,” 100 times), and most importantly of all, “bread and butter letters.”

We all knew how to say “thank you” for a gift (even if we found the gift confusing, or perhaps insulting — as in “I”m too old for that!”), and how to express gratitude for an overnight visit, whether it was a one-night slumber party or an entire summer at Momo and Popee”s house. Writing was as significant a part of education as times tables, spelling and catechism.

I don”t know what happened to script. Sometime since the days when school children were taught script, it just disappeared. Everyone, it seems, now writes only in small boxy letters that would not hit those straight or dotted lines with any regularity. Oh, the nuns at St. James Major would be horrified!

Enter the computer. No longer is there need for any concept of correct spelling. Now we have “spell check,” a handy tool. Of course, it can lead to confusion such as “dog eat dog” morphing into “doggie dog.” I recently saw a sign in Columbus that said “Brunswick Stew is Hear.” Pity the poor people who have typos in their tattoos, ever permanent.

Maybe all those nuns and grade-school teachers had the right idea. There is value in understanding the nuances that only come with knowing how to write and spell.

As I was writing this, Columbus” kooky friend, Brenda Caradine, called to tell me about a thank-you note she had received and how much it delighted her. “I am going to leave it on your porch to read,” she told me. “But, you must return it.”

Imagine being so thrilled with the sort of small courtesy that was once so embedded in our psyche. There was a time when we looked askance at people, even children, who did not write such letters.

The latest in education news is that cursive is no longer taught in school. We have produced a generation who cannot read messages from their grandparents. I must admit that I, too, am guilty. It is just too easy to send an email, or pick up the phone. And, yes, I only print.

I saw how happy that small note made Brenda, and realized how little it takes to make someone smile.

This may be a bit retro in thinking, but I plan to brush up on my ancient cursive skills. I will most likely need a lot of practice. I wonder if they still sell those big tablets with dotted lines?

Adele Elliott, a New Orleans native, moved to Columbus after Hurricane Katrina.

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