I am a lefty. To the dismay of my grandmother, I write with my left hand. I have been told that as a young child she would put the crayons in my right hand and slap my left hand. It didn’t work. Not even a little bit. I like being a lefty. My brother is a lefty, My fiance is a lefty. My stepson is a lefty. My middle son is a lefty, and it is looking like my daughter will be a lefty too. We are a special bunch and not the short bus special.
In my experiences, we lefty’s are creative. I love to scrapbook and I like to imagine that I am pretty crafty. But I do have a right side to me as well. I shoot a basketball with my left hand, but dribble with my right. I use scissors with my right hand-those lefty scissors just confuse me. And I was lucky enough to have a left handed pemnanship teacher so I can write scrip without that signature left handed hook. But I hold tight to my left handedness. I get a kick when people say to me “I didnt know you were left-handed. That explains alot” Not that I am so sure what that explains, other then that I write with my left hand. I like being special. Different. I think its cool. I march to my own drummer. It is one of those traits that drove my parents crazy, and its one of those traits that I am glad to teach my little ones. Be yourself. Dont worry about what others think. Be a leader. Its ok to be different as long as you stay true to yourself.