Friday wasn’t a bad day. In weather terms it was simply awful, it just rained and rained and rained here in Cambridge, Massachusetts. But I could handle H2O (and a bit of crap that managed to dissolve into it on the way from 25,000 feet back to earth) coming down in little droplets. In school terms it was alright, a couple of classes; a last-minute attendance at a job fair in which I was conspicuously the most-comfortably dressed (read: least well-dressed; I tend to like to see things from the bright side) person in the room; a fascinating reading about the errors of Robert McNamara during the Cuban Missile Crisis and the Vietnam War (a must-read for aficionados—find The Fog of War on Amazon.com). In family terms it was great, a rare opportunity to interact exclusively with the only other adult member of the family for a relatively sustained period of time (read: date night!). And in food terms, a delight in which the antipasto trumped the pasto and the postpasto (apologies Italians, I am so mangling your language)—a delight at Caffe Vittoria—trumped all else.
So it wasn’t a bad day by any measure. Except when Wifey dropped the bombshell over dinner.
“I think Baby is right-handed.”
See, I have three youngins and that makes three of them righties. Don’t get me wrong they are fantastic kids and I love them so but in this solitary aspect, three times I have been disappointed. I have done my part though. For one, I have always ensured I hand them the pencil/pen/crayon/their mom’s lipstick on their left-hand first. Every time, the left hand of the boy would then pass the drawing tool to his right, and the right would then proceed to create the next masterpiece. Without fail. As someone who looks on the bright side (sometimes to the point of delusion, as you shall see), I tell myself it’s the left hand bossing the right hand around. In moments when I am more grounded in reality I just say not again.
Many well-meaning friends and strangers look at our three boys and suggest to us in half-amusement (and sometimes with a straight face, can you believe it) that we should try for a fourth so that we “will” get a girl. To this remark I usually have a couple of responses that I mutter under my mind’s breath. Apart from the one about them needing a class in stats and probability to sort out that aspect of their life so that their own personal decisions in the future will not be as screwed as the past decisions they had previously made with this bad piece of math, I have a more pertinent response (pertinent to this blog anyway).
Forget the girl, I might be tempted to try for a lefty.
But you see, if they were lefties, YOU would have more work to do, in terms of teaching them to write and feed themselves. So it isn’t all that bad!
But would I mind?!
What’s the base rate of lefties? Isn’t it 10% or something? You might have to have a lot of kids before you get a leftie. Might be easier to just force one of them to switch like your mom did with you…