I have a very personal interest in Tara Parker-Pope's blog post about lefties, based on a New York Times article about left-handedness by Perri Klass, "On the Left Hand, There Are No Easy Answers." Not because I'm left-handed - I'm not - but I am surrounded by lefties at home.
I'm sympathetic to the problems of being a leftie in a world dominated by righties (who make up about 90% of the population). But my three lefties get their revenge in my household. When I reach for a pair of scissors at home, half the time they don't work (for me) because I grabbed the left-handed ones. When we eat out, I need to make sure the lefties are sitting to the left of me, or we will bump elbows, possibly setting off a tantrum, depending on the leftie's age.
My lefties are a very creative bunch, though, I have to admit. They've turned tinfoil and Kleenex boxes into robot shoes, created a computer keyboard out of a piece of cardboard, and made their own fake iPod which they taped my real headphones to (hint hint, Mom). There's an endless procession of plays, songs, stories, and artwork, and we're always running out of glue and tape for projects, which disappear as fast as any office supplies that I accidentally leave lying around. And musical instruments are piling up so fast at our house that I've started to trip over them.
Of course there's lots of (somewhat self-serving) leftie-spotting in my family, usually identifying highly educated or highly creative lefties. Look - that doctor is a leftie! Obama is a leftie! My teacher is a leftie! Mark Twain, Gandhi, Benjamin Franklin - the list goes on.
I grew up in a family with no lefties, and my husband's family was evenly split. Here, though, they're in the majority. I like my pack of lefties, and the leftie refuge that is my house. When I go out, I'm among my rightie kin, but at home, the wild, mysterious (and often inexplicably sticky) lefties rule.