Living In Between Left and Right

Life without a dominant hand

Later, David Kramer would become my Year Three love interest. A romance that would hit its soaring height with a quick peck on the lips after the lunch siren. But at the beginning of Year One, David looked at me with his nose firmly crinkled in an upturned position.

“You’re weird,” he said.

Janelle Green, soon to become my best friend, stuck up for me. “It’s NOT weird. It’s clever. I bet you can’t do it.” Janelle raised her arm and waved it frantically until Miss Ferguson came over to our table.

“Do you know, Sandi can write with one hand and color in with the other. Isn’t she clever?”

Miss Ferguson frowned at me and tutted. “No, that won’t do. It’s not right. You have to choose a hand right now.”

A pencil in both hands, I looked around. Everyone else was using their right hand. Had Miss Ferguson given me a clue? Choose right now? So I should use my right hand? Slowly I put the colored pencil in my left hand down. Then I continued to write my name at the top of my sheet with my right hand.

Miss Ferguson nodded in approval at my choice then headed towards another table. David leaned over to Janelle, “See. It’s weird.”

Janelle shook her head, her tight curls bouncing. “I think it’s clever.”

All Fine Motor Skills Must Be Performed With the Same Hand

Miss Ferguson liked things done a certain way. If I slipped and picked up a pencil or scissors with my left hand, she would tut at me until I changed hands. By the end of Year One, I performed fine motor skills, like writing and cutting, exclusively with my right hand.

Throughout primary school, Phys Ed was always a problem subject for me. If it was straight running, I performed well. But I bombed out of anything that required anything that resembled coordination. I’d muddle my right and left hand (or foot) and start with a hiccup. My ball skills were abysmal except for tee-ball. I could wack a ball on a tee-ball stand out of the field.

On occasion, I could do well at high jump, surprising everyone because I was always the shortest girl in my class. Sometimes my run would go perfectly, and I would soar over the bar. Other times the jump felt wrong from the moment I leaped until I crashed through the bar — like I was taking off from the wrong foot.

Teachers would call out left, and I would go right. High school ballroom dancing lessons were problematic. “SANDI! Use your other left!” was a constant refrain, reminding me that I had started once again using the wrong foot.

My high school Phys Ed teacher didn’t know if she should be alarmed about my racket skills or not. Who needs a backhand when you can effortlessly switch the racket between your left and right hands? But the look on her face clearly told me she thought my constant switcharoo mid-game was not quite right. Even my adamant protest of, “But I have a longer reach this way,” did nothing to help my cause.

A Cluster of Headaches

By nineteen, my lack of coordination was something I lived with. It never bothered me. My constant headaches, on the other hand, were troublesome. On a routine hospital admission, I once again mentioned the constant headaches to my respiratory doctor.

Over the years, my headaches had been attributed to the regular coughing that came with Cystic Fibrosis. But now, having found my biological father, I could include an aunt with a brain tumor among my family connections. Constant headaches with a family history that included a brain tumor raised the stakes.

A scan showed no abnormalities in my brain. However, Dr. Hunter from the neurological department watched me intently, her head tilted to the side. “Push on my hand,” she instructed. I gave her hand a solid push with my right hand. “Now with your left,” she said. Once again, I gave her hand a solid push. She held out both hands and said, “Both at once this time.” When I pushed her hand again, she nodded, muttered “Interesting,” and made some notes.

On the way back to my room, Dr. Hunter dropped her pen. “Fumble fingers.” she said, “Could you pick that up for me, please?” I bent down and grabbed her pen with my right hand, and returned it.

Dr. Hunter tapped her pen on the file for a moment, then said, “I have a theory.” Without warning, she threw her pen at me. I reached up and caught it with my left hand. I tossed it back, and she continued. “Do you ever recall writing with your left hand in school?”

I nodded, “I was writing with one hand and coloring in with the other. The teacher didn’t like it.”

Dr. Hunter made another note. “Here, catch,” Dr. Hunter paused and threw her pen at me. I caught it with my right hand. Her eyes watched me like a hawk as she gave me more tasks. Nothing hard — to pretend to answer the phone, pick up my cutlery. Sometimes she asked politely. At other times she was like a drill sergeant barking orders.

When my phone rang spontaneously, she raised her eyebrow when I answered it then continued with her notes. I hadn’t meant to be rude, but if a telephone rings, I answer it. It’s an in-built habit I’ve never been able to break. In my defense, I did keep the call short.

After my quick promise to return the call soon, Dr. Hunter asked me to shut one eye. I promptly shut my right eye. “Now change to shut the other eye.” My face screwed up in a macabre attempt to wink as I tried to force my left eye to shut on its own.

“What about sports. Are you any good at them?”

I described my athletic prowess as a bit of a debacle — apart from my switcheroo racket skills.

“You’ll be pleased to know this is the last question,” Dr. Hunter smiled. “Anyone in your family left-handed?”

“Yes, I’ve got a cousin, and I think an uncle is left-handed too.”

Dr. Hunter nodded. “That fits. Because you don’t have a dominant hand. You react with your right hand when you’re given time to think, which is a learned behavior. Without time to think, you always react with your left hand — like you did when I threw my pen at you the first time.”

“Am I ambidextrous?” I asked. You’re either a left-hander, right-hander, or you're ambidextrous. Those were the choices, right?

Dr. Hunter shook her head, “No, you have mixed hand dominance. For example, you write exclusively with your right hand and hold your cutlery as a left-hander. Then for other tasks, your hands are interchangeable.”

“Based on my observations, your test results, and your answers, I believe you are a natural left-hander who has been taught to be right-handed. Your inability to close your left eye is another indication. It’s probably why you struggle with sports. Try playing left-handed next time. In everyday life, the way you react depends on how much thinking time you have. Your brain undergoes a little stress deciding which hand to use, which might explain some of your headaches. However, your constant coughing is the most likely cause.”

Left vs. Right or … Golden?

Roger Sperry researched (real research, not a google search!) the two hemispheres of the human brain and their functional abilities. The two hemispheres in our brain work in concert with our dominant hand. Sperry’s research scored him a Nobel Prize.

Left-handers are thought to be more right-brain dominated and have the following traits:

• Better facial recognition
• Greater capacity for emotional empathy
• Musical ability and artistic creativity
• Visualization
• Intuition

While on paper, right-handers appear to be Vulcans with their left-brain abilities:

• Language & linguistics
• Logic
• Critical thinking
• Mathematics
• Reasoning

A quick google of left and right-brain dominance reveals a plethora of tests you can do to determine which side of your brain is dominant if you’re interested. Some are purely for fun and are a bit clickbaity, while others have research to back them up.

Although most people have traits of both, they usually sit firmly in one of the two categories. However, regardless of your score, left-brained and right-brained people are capable of tapping into both sides of the brain — it’s only an indication of which side is utilized more frequently. Right-handers can become the next Mozart while left-handers have the potential to morph into Vulcans.

I’m somewhat fond of giving a creative interpretation of the rules — and the brain dominance test is no exception. I score either dead in the middle with 50% on each side or 51% vs. 49%. Most likely this is due to my lack of a dominant hand. Recently I learned the term for someone like me is “golden.”

Unfortunately, a golden brain does not make me smarter or more creative than others. But it does allow me to look at creative problems logically.

At the end of 2000, I had a meeting with my son's preprimary teacher.

We chatted about a few things, then Mrs. Conroy added, “Jarryn hasn’t decided which hand to use. He's still using both his left and right hand.”

“Does it really matter?” I asked. “Maybe he’s a left-hander in a right-handed world.”

Mrs. Conroy smiled, “I wanted you to make sure you were okay with giving him time to work it out for himself — but I see I needn’t have worried.”

For a moment, I wondered what my life might look like if Miss Ferguson had been forward-thinking. If she’d left me to figure this hand dominance out by myself.

Then I shook the thought off. I love being able to use both hands. I love being able to look at a problem and assess it from multiple angles. My habits and behaviors, which sometimes set me apart, might have been sparked due to learned behavior, but over time I've made them mine.

I’m not a left-hander living in a right-handed world. Nor am I stuck in the middle ground.

I’m right where I want to be. Uniquely me.