~tl~a~OOt<br > I<br > Jerome Brunet may be right， which is to say correct. Our<br >eft hand may indeed be an invaluable dreamer， a maladroit<br >mt lucky magician that finds its darkest target， as any noc-<br >urnal sharpshooter can tell you， by artfully aiming off-<br >:enter.<br > On the other hand--witness the young mother who wrote<br >~bigail Van Buren--I doubt society will ever see it that<br >Nay. My enduring disenchantment began forty years ago，<br >)ut 1 still remember the event as vividly as yesterday: My<br >eft hand clutching the pencil， the teacher bending over me<br >~s 1 mark my paper. Firmly she takes the pencil from my<br >eft hand puts it in my right， smiling encouragement. Just as<br >irmly I return the pencil to my left and go on scribbling.<br >~he pries it from my fingers， not smiling now， puts it back<br >n my right hand and shows me her ruler.<br > Not quite believing， I switch again. This time I hold on<br >
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