Teachers just don't understand.

One of the menial projects we were forced to complete in kindergarten involved the creation of an "All About Me" cut out. After having your outline traced onto a piece of butcher paper (which inevitably leaves everyone in the class looking like a frumpy white blob), and drawing clothes and features on with crayon, (I was ridiculed for using orange as my skin tone, but when we are only given the 8-pack of crayola there are not a lot of options. Most people left theirs white, which is far more lame.) we were forced through a stupid series of tests that would later appear on the body-shaped poster as a pseudo merit badge. Tying shoes, buttoning shirts, knowing the alphabet - we were all individually quizzed during nap time to make sure we were developing normally.

Velcro shoes and t-shirts got me through most of my trials, unfortunately I had a difficult time determining the difference between my right and left hand. To add insult to injury, my kindergarten teacher did not apprehend the importance of logic. Typically the pattern went something like this:

Teacher: Cliffy, do you want to come over here and work on your About Me?
Cliffy: Not particularly. I'm trying to take a nap.
Teacher: Cliffy, come over here.
(I pretend to be very sleepy and stumble over to the table, accidentally tripping over Molly and Whitney along the way.)
Ok. Now, hold up your hands and tell me which hand is your right hand.
Me: You mean, my correct hand?
Teacher: No, I mean your right hand, as opposed to your left hand.
Me: Wouldn't it be easier for you to ask which hand is my left hand? That way you wouldn't have to clarify.
Teacher: You are the only student I have to clarify for.
Me: Then maybe I am the only student who should be asked for my left hand instead of my right.
(I notice my teacher is getting annoyed, but have to keep going in hopes of getting a hint.)
Teacher: Ok, Cliffy. Which hand is your left hand?
Me: That's not fair, you asked everyone else to show their right hand.
Teacher: Just wave your left hand.
(I hesitate, think really hard about the last time we went through this, upbraid myself for napping while Matt was doing his hands...he always knows his hands...and wave my left hand - and also my other hand just a little bit, in case that is the one she is looking at.)
Teacher: Oh, I'm sorry. That is your right hand. We can try again tomorrow.
Me: Well, why don't we try again right now. Ask me to wave my right hand.
Teacher: (laughing) That wouldn't be fair, would it? You have to have time to forget.
Me: (not laughing) What's not fair is that you want me to forget. Shouldn't you be trying to help me remember? I'll never really need to know this anyway.
Teacher: What about when people are trying to give you directions?
Me: Most people point. I would know which one is my left hand if you would point at it.
(Dejected, I return to my mat...again.)

Eventually Matt Morris helped me cheat. For this I will be eternally grateful. To this day, I have a difficult time quickly identifying my left from my right hand...and to be honest, I'm glad. Serves her right.