The Writing on the Wall

I was listening to the radio this morning, and I was amazed at what I heard. 
Well, I guess I shouldn't say I was amazed so much as dismayed.
Dismayed, disheartened, and...a little worried.
One more things seems to be under threat of distinction in the face of this thing we call technology...
Cursive.
They're actually trying to decide whether or not we should be teaching our children cursive in schools anymore, or if it's just too archaic.
Archaic––or inconvenient?
Think about it.
It takes a lot of patience to teach a child cursive. Sometimes it even takes patience to READ cursive. So if we eliminate that aspect of writing altogether, we don't have to worry about finding patience for it. 
But where does it end?
Soon, we'll no longer even be putting pen to paper. Every mode of correspondence will be relegated to an electronic device, and handwriting will become a completely lost art.
What else will we be sacrificing in the name of technology?
We'll lose handwriting, true, but what we'll lose with that is something much deeper...
We'll lose a part of ourselves, of our own individuality. 
Of a connection.
Who else but your mother has your mother's handwriting?
When you've lost your grandfather, won't you still have a little piece of him––of his history, as well as your own––if you have a note or a letter or even just a scribble written in his hand?
I think we need to be careful.
Ink isn't simply ink. 
Words aren't simply words.
And handwriting isn't simply something to be cast aside.