There are many events in my childhood that, in remembering them, didn’t make much sense. Once I understood my mother’s drunkenness, some of those events became a little clearer. One instance, however, never made sense. One morning, my mother got me out of bed to go to school – I was in Grade 1. It was quite dark outside, so I would say it was probably late October or early November. When I started school a few months earlier, I was very excited and eager to embark on this new adventure. My grandmother had bought me some pretty dresses for school – one yellow, one blue, and one pink.
This particular morning, I was wearing the pink one. I was sitting on the edge of my bed brushing my hair looking into the dresser mirror. My mother came into the room, got angry (and I never remembered why), grabbed the brush out of my hand and smacked me across the mouth with it, splitting my lip and getting blood on my pink dress. Not only did it really hurt, but I was angry that now, because I didn’t have another clean dress, I couldn’t go to school.
It was shortly after that my mother left our household, and my great-aunt – we called her “mom” – came to live with us. She had me help her in many household chores, like ironing and sweeping. She would always comment on how I was holding the broom or the iron the wrong way. Everyone always commented on how I tied my shoes – backward to them. So, I learned that if the broom or iron felt “right” in my hand, I must be doing it wrong, so I’d switch.
Jump ahead to my College years. Because my high school marks were bad, I did not qualify for acceptance into the program of choice. I took a year of General Arts (GASP) to improve my grades, and that proved to be a good idea. A year later, I was accepted into the music program I wanted. While in GASP (yes, we joked about this being the “last gasp” of our education), I took a psychology course. In it, we were to prepare seminars to present to the rest of the class. One of my classmates presented the topic of learning disabilities. I had never heard of them, and was fascinated. I discovered I had a mild organizational learning disability. Later I discovered this particular disability can be caused by a change in handedness. I asked my dad and his sister if I had ever been left-handed. They both thought about it for a moment, and then said, rather puzzled, “well, yes, you were.” They had honestly never thought about it, but realized I was.
Wow! What a revelation! In investigating how I changed from left-handedness to right-handedness, it was said to me that my mother was extremely superstitious, and that was probably her reason for changing me to being right-handed. By the time I went to school, my school teacher – 1 year from retirement – continued the process of converting me, and when Mom came, she didn’t even know I had been left-handed and thought I was just inept. She was just trying to teach me the way to do it that worked. And when I thought about my recounting of the hairbrush story, I realized every time I told it, I motioned myself brushing my hair with my left hand! Weird.
Once I discovered all this, I tried for a time to do some things with my left hand again – eating and writing. I did adopt eating with my left hand sometimes, but I never could get the writing down. I had always been “ambidextrous” as my dad is also. I found I was also “left-footed” in sports. Then, last October, I started a few months of counselling for some emotional issues that had popped up again relating to my childhood. Suddenly, after a couple of months, I realized I was doing more things left handed. It was a shock to me! I told my counsellor, and she said, “healing in many ways.” Wow. I hadn’t thought of ever returning to left-handedness, nor that it would represent a form of healing. Since I first noticed it, the trend has continued. I still haven’t tried writing, but when I start my online drawing lessons, I will at least try some drawing with my left hand. I find using my left hand is natural, and in many cases, I do a better job with the left hand!
My childhood has damaged me emotionally. This is not self-pity, but just a statement of fact. God has taken that damage and sculpted me into the person I am today, and will continue His work until I pass from this life. Just like a broken bone can never be made whole again, so the emotional break can never be completely healed. But, just as the bone is stronger at the point of the break, my emotions in some ways are stronger because of my trials. And certainly the spiritual training through trials has been intense, and rewarding. I will never be completely left-handed again – at least I would highly doubt it. Yet to have “healed” back to some form of left-handedness again is also God’s working in my life. I don’t entirely understand what it represents, but it doesn’t matter. It proves to me God is working on me, and that’s enough.
Until next time, appreciate the uniqueness of everyone in your life…
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