But, hey! I can bat both handed. And use all variety of scissors. Bonus.

Okay, I read that the first time as, "And run with all variety of scissors."

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I stuttered a lot as a kid. Needed lessons and whatnot. Also, lisped.

And yet: right-handed as a right-handed perfectly normal right-handed person who uses his right hand. To masturbate.

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In second grade, a teacher tied me up and forced me to use my right hand, saying something about ab-nor-MAL-ity and saving me from suffering later in life.

Wow Beej, you're relatively young for them to have done that to you. I know when my f-i-l (who's in his 70s) went through it, someone (doctor I think, maybe a teacher) intervened, because they knew then that forcing him rightie was what brought out his stutter.

My father (also a leftie) threatened to burn down the school.

I was untied.

Heee. At first I read this as though he'd been force-switched and threatened to burn down the school when he was a kid, but still, funny.

When my dad was little, a teacher taped shut his twin brother's mouth--for being chatterbox. My dad told the teacher to remove the tape, but she didn't. He told her again. She didn't. He threw a book through a window and told her to take the tape off his brother's mouth. I believe he got in trouble, but his brother remained untaped from there on out. Dad was very protective of his twin, though. When they were even younger (I think about 4), my uncle fell off a bike and broke his arm. My father was yelling and crying so, that they took him to the hospital, rather than his poor, injured twin.

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With apologies to all the good teachers around these parts, there is an incompetent minority in the profession that terrorizing at the hands of enraged parents does some good for.

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I throw more powerful punches with my left, but have better endurance with my right. My kickboxing instructor splained why, but I forget.

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I stuttered a lot as a kid. Needed lessons and whatnot. Also, lisped.

Well, the forcing against the handedness is not the only cause, but it is a cause.

I do feel sorry for all the lefties who were forced to write with their arms curled around into an unnatural position, just so they can write "correctly."

It just looks so uncomforatable, and it can't be good for the body.

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With apologies to all the good teachers around these parts, there is an incompetent minority in the profession that terrorizing at the hands of enraged parents does some good for.

When I hear stories from my parents and other relatives older than I am, as much as the public school system today is a head-thunker, it is so much better for children. The incident with my father and his twin happened at some point in the 1930s, as Dad was born in '28.

I do remember a case in the news within the past couple of years where a young girl had her mouth taped shut in school. Today, that's recognized as an abusive situation, rather than just a strict teacher. I'd be hard pressed not to shove the role of tape up the behind of a person who did that to one of my kids. I come by that honestly, though. In the early 40s, my (maternal) uncle came home with a black eye, because he smirked at a teacher. He wouldn't tell my grandmother what happened, so his friend did--he was taken in the cloak room/closet by a teacher, and beaten, for smirking. I believe my grandmother's exact words to the Principal were, "Put the two of us in a closet, and let's see who comes out."

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Oh damn. Yeah, the cruel humiliations and torments that bad teachers generally subject kids to are the sort of thing one raises a ruckus with administration about, but if a kid of mine came home with a black eye from a teacher punching him or her, they'd be looking for a new teacher and I'd be hoping my case got tried by a judge who was also a parent.

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I do feel sorry for all the lefties who were forced to write with their arms curled around into an unnatural position, just so they can write "correctly."

This was my father. Though I never thought about him being forced to write like that. Just thought it was a bad orthopedic choice. It always looked to me like it must hurt.

Me? I just drag my hand right through. In my very prolific, ball-point writing days, I could tell how much progress I was making by the shade of blue the edge of my palm got on a given day.

Cindy, I love hearing I'm relatively young for anything. But, in the early 60s, things seemed pretty provincial and definitely un-enlightened in my neck-o-the-woods. Even if it WAS California. The tying up was extreme, but I certainly got talked to by more than one adult.

I was left-handed, spelled my name wrong (according the EVERYone), had no mother and was 3 feet tall grades 3-9. Jeez, what WASN'T I hassled about?

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Cindy, I love hearing I'm relatively young for anything. But, in the early 60s, things seemed pretty provincial and definitely un-enlightened in my neck-o-the-woods. Even if it WAS California. The tying up was extreme, but I certainly got talked to by more than one adult.

Did you go to parochial school, Beej?

I was left-handed, spelled my name wrong (according the EVERYone), had no mother and was 3 feet tall grades 3-9. Jeez, what WASN'T I hassled about?

My word. Being a kid is hard work, isn't it? I try to remember that, when my kids' problems seem about as difficult (to me, from my perspective) as choosing between chocolate and crap.

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