Unhand me - I finally figured out I’m a ‘righty’ even though I’ve written with my left hand since childhood.
My curious twist on the historical bias against left-handedness.
I actually remember learning to write my name. I was with my big brother in our living room, and we had a few pieces of construction paper and some crayons. My brother was four years older than me and I naturally wanted to be just like him. I’m sure I pestered him that day to help me write my name the way I saw him writing.
My brother is left-handed. He is one of those creative people who can draw, paint, and play multiple instruments. I took piano lessons as a kid while he was learning drums and guitar. He sat down at the piano one day and asked, “Where’s middle-C?” I pointed to the key, and he started playing a Beatles song by ear. Practicing the scales was never much fun after that.
My bike skidded sideways and wobbled back and forth until I crashed.
I broke my left arm when I was nine. It was late August and my younger sister and I were riding our bikes up and down the hill on our street. We were chasing each other and she sped away. I booked after her but hit a giant pothole and then a patch of sand. My bike skidded sideways and wobbled back and forth until I crashed.
