In fifth grade, my teacher loathed me. She did everything she could to make me cry and sent me to the principal's office at every opportunity. Don’t believe me? I’m left-handed. Even today, I sometimes confuse my hands. On this specific day, during the Pledge of Allegiance, I placed my left hand on my chest (it should be your right hand over your heart). She got angry at me, saying I wasn’t being ‘patriotic,’ and sent me to the principal's office. The principal and I knew each other well by that point, so I told her why I was back in her office, and she laughed. And laughed. I didn’t think it was funny at all; all the kids in my school thought I was a troublemaker, so they avoided me. My principal wrote on the back of my hands, L and R. What I didn’t realize was that she wrote L on my right hand and R on my left hand. She wrote the same on her hands. Then she took me back to the classroom, had everyone redo the Pledge with our ‘right’ hands, with me leading the class, and it became one of the happiest moments of my time in elementary school.