I\u2019ve been left-handed since I could hold a crayon. And in my family, that was basically the same as being born with horns and a tail. My parents had this thing, this belief that left-handedness was wrong. Not just inconvenient or unusual, but actually morally wrong. Like being left-handed meant there was something broken inside you that could never be fixed.<\/p>\n
They\u2019d spent my entire childhood trying to cure me. When I was five, my mother would take the crayon out of my left hand and shove it into my right over and over until I was crying so hard I couldn\u2019t see the coloring book anymore. When I was eight, my father made me write lines with my right hand every night for a month. I will use my proper hand.<\/p>\n
I will use my proper hand. 500 times. My handwriting looked like a seismograph reading and my wrist achd for weeks, but I still couldn\u2019t do it. My brain just wasn\u2019t wired that way. But the worst was when I was 12. I\u2019d been doing homework that night, too. Math, I think. And I was writing with my left hand because my parents weren\u2019t home and I was tired of pretending.<\/p>\n
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