Pile Of Dog Bones: I Blog Because Of The Penguins

When December came around, she explained to my parents at the parent-teacher conference that I was "stunted" and "incapable" of writing cursively. She explained that if I continued on this path I would never be able to express myself in words on paper. However, she assured them, when she was done with me I would be the second grade's most famous calligrapher. It was after this reassurance and my parents ignorantly giving her the "do what must be done" authorization, that the long reach of the yard stick would bleed my knuckles on a daily basis.

The first time she did it, I had switched the pen to my left hand. I had discovered it was more comfortable to hold it the way the Penguin had wanted it with that hand. I never saw the wood emerge from beneath the habit. In fact all I heard was the *THWAP* of the wood on something soft. It took me a full five seconds to realize it had been my hand. By that time she was screaming at me about how I MUST hold the pen in my other hand, how I MUST do as instructed, how the DEVIL and his consorts use their left hand to write the words of the LORD. It is true that she beat the left handedness out of me that year. Over time I gradually slipped back into holding the pen in my right hand the way a person would hold it with their left. My handwriting is in no uncertain terms, horrendous.

Fast forward 25 years and you will find me expressing myself on the digital pages of my blog, A Pile Of Dog Bones. It started off as a way to break out of a horrendous case of writer's block I was having.