I saw this meme on social media. I can’t credit it to any particular author, because I’ve seen it posted by numerous people. But I’m sharing it anyway, because it really spoke to me.
I first learned about left-handed kids in kindergarten, when I picked up a pair of scissors labeled LEFT. (Yes, back then you had to have special scissors if you were left-handed, because the “regular” ones would not work. Today, most scissors are designed for everyone.)
I gave them a try, quickly realized they didn’t work for me, and never touched them again. Did I suddenly want to be left-handed? No. But did I realize that being left-handed made some things harder? Absolutely. That simple moment gave me empathy.
About 1 in 10 people are left-handed, which means in a class of 30 kids, about three of them will be lefties. They needed special scissors that were not always available. They had to write with their arms resting on the spiral of their notebooks. When they learned to write, they had to hold their pencils differently, often smearing the lead or ink across the page. It was not that long ago in our history that left-handed children were called evil, forced to write with their right hand, and shamed for being different.
When I wore braces on my legs as a child, none of my friends wanted to wear them too. About 1 in 100 children use leg braces for medical conditions such as cerebral palsy, muscular dystrophy, or an injury. My friends did not want to trade places with me, but they did become more aware of what I faced. They noticed. And they grew more empathetic. It was not that long ago that children with cerebral palsy or muscular dystrophy were sent to asylums and lived short lives in institutions, hidden from the world.
Today, about 1 in 31 children in the United States has been identified with autism spectrum disorder. (That figure is about 1 in 100 globally.) How many neurotypical children do you know who say, “Gosh, I sure wish I had autism”? The answer is none.
What they do say is, “Oh, that looks hard,” or, “I did not know you had to do that.” They notice. They learn. And they gain understanding. There was a time when children with autism were not even allowed to go to school, but instead were placed in institutions, forever separated from their families.
Children, by nature, are curious. They experiment. They observe. They may even try something for themselves. But they are also smart enough to recognize when something is not for them. And in that recognition, they learn understanding. They learn compassion. They learn empathy for those who experience the world differently. — unless adults make it acceptable for these children who are not in the majority to be ridiculed, teased, or shamed, or unless adults insist that they hide their differences and “be like everyone else.” When that happens, children are not encouraged to be visible or to participate. They are taught that their differences are a burden instead of a strength.
By now, you have probably realized this post has nothing to do with being left-handed or wearing leg braces. It is about what it means to be different from what society expects. When we treat being in the minority of any group as something to be fixed, hidden, or avoided, we do not just dismiss differences. We teach children shame. We teach them guilt. And we teach them to shrink their lives to fit society’s narrow definition of “normal.”
For too long, they were forced to write with their right hand, often illegibly and painfully, instead of being allowed to use the hand that came naturally. They were barred from factory jobs where machines were designed only for right-handed workers. In some faith traditions, they were even forbidden from serving in religious roles, no matter what their calling.
For too long, children with disabilities were hidden away from the world, denied the chance to become self-supporting or to have families of their own. They watched life pass by through the smudged windows of institutions that offered none of the care, dignity, or opportunities a child needs to truly thrive.
And so, I end this by saying, “Being left-handed is perfectly fine with me.” What is not fine is when society makes anyone feel that their differences are something to be erased.
