I have a superiority complex about being left-handed. Butting desk-mates’ elbows at school and hooking my arm around spiral notebooks was frustrating as a child, but people’s genuinely pleasant surprise upon discovering my southpaw ways as an adult have made me reconsider such inconveniences as ... character-building? Distinguishing? More than “fun-fact” worthy?
People exclaim, “You’re left-handed!” these days with such sincere interest that I cannot help but take it as a compliment. “I am!” I’ll beam proudly, as if I chose this humbling way of life. I dine out on it, marvelling at the clout this thing I once felt victimised by now seems to have.
It amazes me that it was relatively recently in this country that left-handed children were forced to keep their dominant hand tied behind their back as they learned to write. My grandparents had stories of ciotógs getting their left-handedness beaten out of them, as if the devil himself was responsible for it. What were they so afraid of?
It is confusing to think about for obvious reasons, but more obliquely because the Irish usually love an underdog. We revere the dark horse in this country, the chancer, the Davids bold enough to take on their Goliaths. What’s more, we usually enjoy doing things the “wrong” way round – we are masters of obtuse strategies and illogical methods, inane riddles and intricate poetry. Lefties, one would think, epitomise the irreverence of the Irish spirit, and yet, we have been left (right) to fight for what’s right (left) – that being some basic respect – on our own.
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Lefties of yore were up against a system that rewarded conformity. I, conversely, am part of a generation that values difference almost to a fault – we like to celebrate what makes you you; we have been encouraged to hone our idiosyncrasies, to pursue individuality through authenticity. I need little encouragement to champion our cause, but I have now had enough people smile inquisitively at my smudged signature on group cards to make me believe that our culture is ready for some lefty lessons.
Lefties get a bad rap – the potential “demon” of it all has done little for our street cred – but there is plenty that the other 90 per cent of the population could learn from us.
In recent years there has been a bid to “debunk” the idea that we are more creative or intelligent, pedalled in certain scientific studies in the latter half of the 20th-century, due to the lack of any persuasive evidence to back it up. I would counter this “dearth” in neurological “proof” with the fact that lefties necessarily have to move through this right-handed world with a specific level of creativity and intelligence in order to avoid being made a fool of at almost every juncture of the day.
Zips, buttons, jars, handshakes, spiral notebooks – the everyday is made for the right of hand. As a child, when everything is already new and most menial tasks feel unnatural anyway, it is easy to assume that you are just a slow, trepidatious learner. With hindsight, I can see that I was just having to figure out the left-handed version of everything without any guidance, or else forcing my non-dominant, right hand to step up to the plate.
Lefties have had no choice but to face problems as puzzles to be solved and challenges as anagrams to be reordered
Now that I can casually open a tin with my right hand (obviously nothing casual about it if it is making the cut here, but let’s not dwell), I can see that all of the awkwardness was worth something.
From a young age, lefties learn some harsh truths about the world: namely, that it is not purpose-built for you. This is good, if bleak, knowledge to gain early on in life – it prepares you for all the ways in which you will need to be able to adapt, to think laterally, to appreciate the small wins (see “casually opened a tin” above) the older you get.
Sometimes I think that people can give a left-handed vibe. I just assume that anyone who is vaguely offbeat or doing their own thing or who has their own mind is a fellow southpaw (I am none of these things but still think that my left-handedness gives me an edge). When I discover another one out in the wild, it always seems to make sense – their kooky hat usually gives it away. Such is my lefty bias that for a long time I genuinely thought the Irish seanfhocal “aithníonn ciaróg ciaróg eile” was “aithníonn ciotóg ciotóg eile”.
[ There is something utterly charming about suits eating 99s in a heatwaveOpens in new window ]
Ciotóg, though it may be rooted in a sense of pity and bemusement, does at least capture the notion that being a lefty is not just a physical reality – it is a state of mind. Lefties have had no choice but to face problems as puzzles to be solved and challenges as anagrams to be reordered. We are used to making seemingly broken things work for us (that excludes the time I tried to teach myself guitar as a child, failing to realise it sounded bad because I was holding it upside down).
Our quandaries may seem trivial to those who have been able to enjoy the sophistication of a fountain pen, but they could be radical in a world obsessed with convenience and perfectionism and smoothness. Only a minority of the population experience this quotidian level of inconvenience throughout their lives, but the majority could benefit from the healthy disregard for ideas of “correctness” or “how things are done” that comes with it. And if that’s too much to ask then please, for the love of god, on behalf of lefties everywhere, could you just stop handing over inky pens for group card signatures – you’re rubbing it in.
