Being Left-Handed

I was finishing my lunch today in one of my favorite new spots in Bishkek, Murakami, when I had to sign the bank card receipt. The moment I did this the wait staff person smiled and said, "Oh, you're left-handed. So am I." A gentle glow radiated across her and we shared a few warm moments discussing our common fate.

It's something right-handed people can't understand, but whenever those of us who use our left hands notice each other, it is almost as though we are members of a secret, underground society who have found a lost fellow traveler in whom we can confide. It is because being left-handed is an experience that shapes us as profoundly as being right-handed is something "righties" barely contemplate.

When I was a child being left-handed was something I hated because it caused me nothing but misery. Everything in the world was set up for right-handed people. Scissors, pencil-sharpeners, spiral notebooks, and even pens (with ink that smeared across the paper when left hands went over it) were all fiendish inventions of some evil being cruelly obsessed with making the lives of left-handers more difficult to endure. Even buying a baseball glove when I joined my first youth baseball team was an almost impossible endeavor as none of the three stores that sold sporting goods in our small town thought it might be useful to sell a glove that a left-handed boy could use.

It wasn't only the items one used that were a problem, but learning simple tasks could also be a challenge. I remember my poor parents trying day after day for months at a time in their hopeless efforts to teach me to tie my shoes. The frustration level of parents and child reached a terrible level, until my parents came up with the brilliant idea to find someone left-handed to teach me. I remember my first shoe-tying lesson with my left-handed tutor. The unorthodox way he tied shoes worked perfectly for me and within minutes I was tying shoes as well as anyone else. I still remember my tutor's name all these years later because at the time he felt like such a savior to me. That's why we notice fellow members of our underground left-handed society. (And don't get me started on being left-handed and learning to drive a stick shift.)

Then there are the stupid things "righties" have told me over the years in reference to my being left-handed:
*You're just doing that to be different/difficult
*If you really wanted to you could be right-handed
*Try writing with your right hand; you'll get used to it after awhile
*Have you ever tried turning the scissors around the other way, maybe that would help?
*Did you know that the Devil is also left-handed?
*You should move to England. They do everything backward there too.

It is not just our personal issues that define our left-handedness, but society still reflects a perspective about the "left," especially in language. I have often been called "lefty" but no one uses the term "righty." I am a "southpaw," but no one from the other side is called a "northpaw." When someone can't dance they are said to have "two left feet," because, after all, having one left foot is bad enough. A "left-handed compliment" is another name for an insult. It's a universal notion that transcends all cultures: Polish, German, Hungarian, Dutch, and Czech all use the expression "having two left hands" to refer to someone who is completely clumsy or useless. Even words with bad meanings like "sinister" (meaning evil or wicked) come from the Latin for "from the left hand side." It is no wonder, therefore, that Jesus sits on the right hand of God. And it's not surprising that, in light of this biblical concept, there are still some Fundamentalist Christian schools that force left-handed children to switch to the other side despite the fact that this barbarous practice has largely been abandoned.

Over the years, I have come to accept being left-handed. Having no alternative except learning to do some tasks with my right hand, I have become slightly more versatile. I have also become friends with many left-handed people and have appreciated our certain way of being and perceiving. I also think that being left-handed has helped me be more empathetic and understanding as I know what it is like to struggle outside the mainstream.

As I left the restaurant today, I made a mental note of my fellow left-hander as we said good-bye. One more member of my secret society to greet and engage with next time I eat there: because we share much more than those from the other side can imagine.