The Haxtun-Fleming Herald - What can we reason but from what we know? -Alexander Pope

In a previous “Under The Wire” you may have read about an encounter between my right hand and a sharp piece of metal barn siding. The contest was refereed by a very competent hand surgeon who declared the contest a win for the sheet of metal, then put me on the injured reserve list for at least six months. The bad news was my right hand for weeks sported a big, bulky brace. More bad news. I’m right handed. Make that, “I used to be right handed.”

The next few months, just call me “Lefty.” Desperation is a great motivator. I ate, wrote and used my computer mouse left handed. Got better at it every day while also developing a lot of admiration for those who were born lefties. I discovered we live in a right handed world.

My first clue to this came quickly. Sue has an automatic soap dispenser sitting on our bathroom sink, to the left of the faucets. I reached my left hand out to turn on the water which activated the motion detector in the dispenser. Happily, it deposited a blob of soap on my shirt sleeve. At last tally it has done that six times this week. When I wash my shirts, won’t have to add soap. Sleeves have plenty.

Wondering what other surprises this uncaring right hand world might have waiting for me, I called my left handed brother-in-law for advice.

My question seemed to unleash a lifetime of pent up frustration and emotion. He began with his early school years. Ken described first grade, sitting at a half top desk with the writing surface on the right armrest. There, twisted half around he struggled trying to learn to write like the right-handed kids on a spiral bound notebook whose spirals were always in the way. He then began a tirade of stories about left hand unfriendly objects from soup ladles with only one pour spout to chain saws, scissors, bolt action rifles, even pickup trucks.

Hadn’t thought much about that until now. Where is the radio and most other controls located in a vehicle? Talk about discrimination. Brother-in-law Ken has spent his entire life listening to either the only station he could find with his clumsy right hand or even worse, he had to listen to whatever my sister dialed up on their numerous cross country adventures. I feel so sorry for him.

In fact, I feel plumb guilty for spending my life a member of the elitist group of folks born to be right handed. Over the next many weeks, I wrote that many 400 word columns. Eventually my left hand scrawling became about halfway good. I knew in a few weeks I would be able to return to right hand status. May not do it. I kind of liked finding still another way to be different. I did, however, plan to use both hands to type again. Two fingers are faster than one.