In the land before time, at the first indication that a tot may favor their left hand; a correction to the right was swift and unrelenting.
There were biblical admonitions to support this action.
Sheep sat on Christ right side and goats on his left. Those on the right inherited the kingdom of god and the lefties were tossed into everlasting fire. (This may have been the origin of Cabrito; barbecued goat for non-Texans.)
My Presbyterian grandmother discouraged me from being a leftie; political affiliations excepted. She warned me to keep my eyes turned forward during the Sunday church sermon or I would turn into a pillar of salt if I turned around to see who was sitting behind me. This was way before I discovered the wonder of salt and Tequila.
A recent injury to my right hand forced me to use my left during the recovery period. To my surprise, the switch came without difficulty at all. I knew that I used my left hand to shuffle and deal cards, but I discovered that I use my left hand much of the time. My handwriting is illegible using either hand.
This venture into self-discovery led me to do some internet research.
My newly discovered handiness identifies as cross-dominance, not to be confused with gender identity or which restroom I am required to use in Texas.
Highly susceptible to suggestion, I won’t read the side effects warnings on medication labels. You can imagine my concern when I discovered that people who are ambidextrous are more likely to possess a chromosome that is linked to schizophrenia.
I’m back to using my right hand and canceled my request for DNA testing. I do not want to know about my chromosomes.
I’ve sworn off internet research. I do not want the government to know that I may have started life as a leftie.
After this traumatic experience, I found myself wanting comfort food and ate a big piece of chocolate cake.
Grandmother told me that food consumed while standing over the kitchen sink has no calories.