Member-only story
In-betweens & Outliers
A journal of never quite belonging.
May 6th, 1993: I’m born, the first of four. Some people say they remember their birth. I do not. My mom tells me I was a beautiful baby boy. Today I am decidedly not a boy, but I am still beautiful.
2nd Grade: My only elementary school teacher whose name I don’t remember sits next to me as I practice writing the alphabet in cursive. Up until now, I have written with my right hand.
She sees my atrocious handwriting and asks, “Why are you using your left hand? You’re right-handed.”
I explain I wanted to try writing with my left. She tells me to practice with my “dominant” hand. I spend the next week forced to write with my right hand at school, but doing all of my homework with my left.
The following week, my teacher returns my homework and remarks that my handwriting has improved. Tears fill up my eyes as I tell her that I cheated and used my left hand.
After that, I am allowed to write with my left hand.
Years later I find out I am ambidextrous.
5th grade: I ask my Dad what the kids at school mean when they ask, “What are you?”
“What do you mean?”, he asks in that Dad way between discerning and unfazed.
