My preschool teacher was concerned that I had developmental disabilities.
So concerned in fact that she called my Mother into the school to discuss it.
My Mother thanked her and asked what behavior I was displaying that would denote any sort of issue.
At this point my teacher filled up a pitcher with water, gave me a cup and asked me to pour.
I spilled the contents everywhere.
‘Use your left hand William’ my Mother said.
It hasn’t been easy growing up as a southpaw in a right handed world.
The worst was learning to cut paper.
Thats when they really separate the righties from the lefties.
While everybody else got beautifully pointed, stainless steel blades with bright red handles I was forced to make do with the rounded off, puke green shears left rusting in an old Yuban coffee can branded with a giant ‘L’.
Naturally, this was par for the course.
Right handed desks.
Right handed baseball mitts.
Right handed guitars and can openers.
Even the cords on credit card machines are on the right hand side so you have to stretch them awkwardly at an angle just to sign with your left hand.
I’m reminded that about 90 percent of the world is right handed every time I go to shake somebody’s hand.
But by and far the bane of my existence has been the fact that I cannot write more than a sentence without completely smudging the writing and discoloring the side of my palm as I drag it across the paper from left to right.
And to top it off studies show that my lifespan is almost a decade shorter than the rest of you.
On the other hand (pun so very much intended) if I were a more pious man, its for this very reason that I’d probably make an excellent sofer.