Left Handed

I am a left-hander.  I can’t remember much about learning to write or any challenges of being a lefty as a little child.  I do remember my mom complaining about my second grade teacher being inconsistent about her judgments on my hand writing.  I recall Mom saying things like “I wish she would make up her mind.  She wants Gayle to write a certain way, then is critical when she does it that way.  Then next time she will praise the same writing that she complained about last time.”  I am just lucky that she didn’t try to make me use my right hand, as so many teachers did in years past. The next problem I remember was the kids in 3^rd and 4^th grade trying to give me left-handed scissors.  Back then, scissors were made to be used with only the left or the right hand, not like the scissors now that can be used by either hand.  “What is the problem with a left-hander being given left-handed scissors?” you may ask.  I guess I was a problem, as I learned to use scissors with my right hand, like all the right-handers.  I am not sure how that happened, and I never remembered to ask my mom about that when she was still around to ask. 

My next left-handed challenge that I remember was trying to learn to crochet.  In my church class for girls we were to learn to embroider one year, knit one year, and crochet one year.  My mom was a very good crocheter, but she was right handed.  We finally decided that if I sat straight across from her and followed what she was doing, I would be doing it with my left hand and I was able to crochet, just barely.  The 3 dimension rose doily I did was loose and floppy.  Why in the world did I do something that complicated, when a dishcloth would have been so much easier to do and would probably have turned out much better?  Again, I don’t remember and didn’t ever ask my mom about that. 

As I learned to do cursive, my handwriting became a hodge podge of printing, cursive and slop.  According to my mom, that was due to that second grade teacher I had.  When I used pencil, I smeared the writing due to my little finger dragging across the letters I had just formed.  When I learned to use a pen, the slow drying ink smeared even worse than the pencil.  Let’s just say that my school papers were usually a mess.  I had a callous on my little finger all the way through my school years.  Thank goodness that I was able to use a typewriter (yes, back then we had a manual typewriter) for my college classes.  No more ink smears on homework. 

I don’t find that being left-handed is much of a problem now that I am an adult.  My husband and I have figured how to sit at a restaurant so we don’t bump elbows when we eat.  I have a left-handed daughter and so far, one left-handed grandson.  Sometimes I find it tricky to follow a crochet pattern (yes, I still crochet, but am much better than when I was 10), but other than that, it is not as much a problem as it used to be.  I am grateful that I didn’t grow up when left-handers were considered to be wicked and evil.  The word ‘left’ in many languages means crooked, weak, broken, or sinister.  I like to think that left-handers are in their right mind.  When  Left Handers’ Day rolls around on August 13^th, think of me.

~Gayle