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My Dad is almost ambidextrous. That is, he is a firm left handed writer, but in terms of sports he makes up his own mind - changing hands mid-service in tennis, or swapping hands at cricket to throw me.

Apparently my Grandfather was completely ambidextrous, and was one of those rare people who didn't have a preferred hand.

As a child, I was pretty firmly right handed - but nevertheless was immensely desirous of my ambidextrous lineage. I remember using my left hand anyway, determined my ambidexterity was only latent, and that a full day of black-berry picking with my left hand would render it equal to its counterpart.

Inevitably, black-berry picking stained the fingertips of my left hand for days after, a fact which I held as proof to myself that I COULD be ambidextrous, if only I tried hard enough...

Under the reign of the teenage years, where normality was desired above all, I let slide my dual handed desires and was happy to be a competent right-y.

However, on a French squash court, my opponent explained that he found himself switching hands to deal with certain shots - I laughed and thought of my Dad doing exactly the same. Then, as if retaining the disbelief of that bloody minded and blackberry juice stained child I too switched hands, and went on to play a whole game with my 'wrong' hand.

Admittedly, I lost. But only just, re-igniting my belief that I have enough ambidextrous blood to be left handed if only I try- I even wrote some of this story with my left hand.

Story by:

Thomas Lost-in--France

submitted at 7:31pm

26 February 2011

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