February 12, 2006
Hey Y'all, my name is Grasshopper and I'm left-handed.
I know, I know. The shame of it! I'm here today to talk to you because I've tried and tried to change, to be like 'the rest of them', but my brain and my body just keep fighting me. If I try to eat with my right hand, I'm a pig. If I try to write with it, it's practically illegible. 'Normal' scissors, dial phones, needlenose pliers – all spaz in my sinister (Latin for left) hand. You righties out there; you just don't know how easy you've got it.
• In Indonesia, it's only polite to use your left hand in the restroom.
• The Romans tied a boy's left arm to his side until he learned to use his sword with his right.
• Eskimos believe a left-handed person is a sorcerer.
• In the 18th and 19th centuries, people were beaten for being left-handed.
• In Africa, boiling water was poured on a child's left hand and his hand was buried in mud until the nerves were killed.
When I was in the 2nd grade, my teacher sat us all in ABC order and I was in the last row on the right side of the room. She taught cursive from the front board and, try as I could, I had to 'hook'. I tried to change; I really did, but there's no way a leftie can learn proper handwriting on the right side of the room. I'd go home with a dirty hand and I got little piggy faces drawn on my papers.
13% of the world's population is left-handed. I guess that means in a room full of people that might be just me. Me, feeling different, feeling alone, hoping no one would notice, wondering if it showed.
I look at lists of famous lefties and it makes me feel better: Michelangelo, Mark Twain, H.G Wells, Kurt Cobain, Judy Garland, Jimi Hendrix, Faith Hill, Eminem, Joshua Jackson, Angelina Jolie, Colin Farrell, Anthony Stewart Head (Giles), Jim Henson, James Marsters (Spike), and lots more. All these people who were born different. Maybe it's not just me. Maybe I'm not alone.
There's total left-handed (me), there's ambidextrous (using both hands) and there's all those other people out there, all 87% of them, that go along happily, lalelalalalalaa, being right-handed. I've actually had people watch me and then say in amazement, �You're left-handed!' Well, duh!! I guess they wonder if it was caused by my genes or my upbringing.
Okay, you're wondering where I'm going with this, right? Nah, if you're here then you're smart and you've figured it out already. I could beat myself over the head with embarrassment or shame for being left-handed, but what's the point of that? I'll still pick up my pencil with my left hand. So, I'm cool with it.
We all live on so many levels of our world. Which hand do we write with? What color is our hair, are our eyes, our skin? Are we tall and skinny or short and chubby or any other combination? Do we fit in or have trouble making friends? Are we good in math or totally suck? Do we laugh out loud, huge belly laughs, chuckle quietly or roll our eyes? Are we pigeon-toed, slew-footed, bow-legged, knock-kneed? What did we inherit from our mom – what from our dad and what horrid thing from our great Aunt Myrtle? Do we turn the dial to country, rock or rap? All these things add up to you; the special you that lives inside your mind and peeks out at the world. None of these things are controlled by you, chosen by you (except the tunes); they are just part and parcel of who you are. Oh, I forgot one other small part: Are we gay, or bi, lesbian or somewhere in between, or straight? But see – it's just one other small part of what makes you – you. Be cool with it.
If it's really true that one in every ten people is gay, then tomorrow, count the number of people sitting in your cafeteria at lunch. Unless there are only nine other people eating that stuff, there are some other kids feeling the same things you are. Don't sweat trying to figure out who, either. Just be friends with as many people as you can and know that your time will come when you're ready.
You will find your place. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but up the road aways, you will become the total person God made, the person God loves unconditionally. Choose to be proud of yourself, choose to accept that everyone might not like it, choose to dig deep in your heart for compassion to show the ignorant. Never be afraid that you're alone – you aren't.
Isn't it funny? The opposite of straight is bent. I kind of like thinking of myself as bent; makes me feel kinda tricky and cute. I'm kinda like a rainbow colored Bendy doll. Now really, choose the cuter thing: a multi-colored Bendy or a wooden ruler. Both useful – in their way.
Have you ever thought backwards? I mean, what if our str8 friends had to come out of their ummmm, shoeboxes? (we own the closets) Can you picture saying to them: �How bizarre, did you always know you were str8? Was it genes or upbringing or what?' If any str8 kids are reading right now � Hey! Glad to see you. We're just alike, you and me, we just kinda like some diff things.
I was eleven when Matthew Shepard died. I didn't know at the time how much I would mourn him now. I was twelve when Columbine went down in history. How did it go that far without anyone noticing? I was thirteen when I got my first computer for homework and games and fourteen when I realized that I needed to find ways to express myself before I imploded. I was fifteen when I started writing my stories on-line. I write them for you. I write them for me. I write them in honor of Matthew's memory and all the kids out there who need to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that people care; that people love them, that there is trust in the world.
I write them hoping that just one kid will come on-line, like I did, searching for strength and hope and find it in my words. I hope for respect and compassion from you readers and perhaps a beginning of tolerance and acceptance from someone who came looking to condemn.
Raised in a rural southern town, I learned early that you 'go with the flow'. It's different for everyone and each of us finds our own path. I just hope that my stories make you know that, and trust me on this, someone else is having the exact same feelings as you, the exact same worries and doubts as you. At this very moment, a lot of kids are on-line blogging their feelings.
When I got my big Dell monster for Christmas that year, the first thing I did was punch up Word and type my name in huge letters. I would write to myself and then delete it, afraid someone would find it. I would type: 'I like to watch Larry McCandless tie his sneakers' or 'Jack Trivers has really cool hair'. It was as if seeing the words validated who I was and made my feelings not so forbidden. It was a while before I could put my feelings into a story for you to read, but once it started, I couldn't seem to stop the words.
Yes, I Googled. We all have. I was starved for words that meant something to me. I was starved for pictures that would make me shiver. But, you know, that got old kinda fast. I started searching for stories that would make me feel good about myself, not just sexually, but would make my heart smile. As I found sites that told stories about kids like me, kids searching for their identities, afraid that no one would understand, feeling very alone, I wanted to create characters from my own self, from inside me; characters like you and like me, kids wanting to be happy. Not 'late at night, alone in your dark room' stories, but 'light of day, that's me' stories.
I write fast – not watching spelling or grammar and I hate having to go back and correct. But, thank you, Mrs. Killebrew, for torturing me in 11th and 12th grade English. It paid off. I find that as I write, my characters take over and I lose control of the story. They drive it forward, looking for that happy ending; looking for it like you do, like I do.
I write from my experiences, from people I've known and people I still know. I went to school with the jocks and the cheerleaders, the druggies, the sk8rs, the geeks, the Goths, and all the other kids who just want people to like them, just want validation in their lives. Some of them are just like you, scared of feelings they don't understand. All of them are struggling with growing up.
We want acceptance from our parents, our peers, our teachers, everyone we come in contact with and so we conform to as much normalcy as we can, whatever 'normal' is. If you want to tell people you are left-handed, go ahead – or you can let them discover it by themselves. If you want to tell people you're gay, go ahead – ..or let that part of you evolve in its own time. Whatever you choose, it's your life. Take your time.
I got my pen name from that old TV show Kung Fu, where the little boy finds himself growing up with Chinese Shaolin monks. The Sensei, Master Po, says to Grasshopper, �To seek freedom in this world, a man must struggle. To win, he must choose wisely where and when he struggles — all else is like spitting in the wind.'
So, I guess I'll just end this by giving you a huge hug and tell you to choose wisely, love with all your heart and, like your grandma always told you, don't spit.
Be Safe and Be Happy ~ I have faith in you ~ GH
There is a set of tributes to Grasshopper and his writing here, on my messageboard. You may wish to leave one of your own. Additionally there is a letter from him to me there (I got it on 7 June 2005) and it encloses a new JHS chapter)