Everyone always comments on how I hold a pencil.
Every year, I get at least one comment. Usually, I get a comment from every teacher. Sometimes, I even get comments from students.
Either way, I always get comments.
Now, I know nearly everyone holds a pencil differently. Everyone has some sort of weird grip. But I’ve been told time and time again that mine is by far the craziest.
Don’t believe me?
Refer to the picture below.
That, my friends, is how I hold a pencil. I am, indeed, right-handed. You may notice that it’s the same grip as how one holds a violin/viola bow. That was not intentional. I didn’t learn to play the violin and viola until sixth grade. I’ve been writing like that my whole life.
Needless to say, my orchestra teacher was more than a little surprised when he realized the bow grip was the most natural thing in the world for me.
As was I.
While I was writing this post, my friend told me to name it “The Death Grip” because the way I hold a pencil is so painful. I disagree. I think it’s the only comfortable grip possible. It gives complete control, yet enough freedom to write fluently.
My handwriting may suffer because of my grip, but I can write incredibly small, so I think that makes up for all the chicken scratches.
… Okay, you know what? At least my handwriting is legible.
My elementary school teachers put up a fair fight. They told me every day how to correctly hold a pen or pencil, even moved my fingers until my grip was perfect. They told me to always write that way. I’d nod and smile.
Then they’d walk away, thinking they had won, and I’d roll my eyes and go right back to my usual pencil grip.
They eventually gave up, which I was so thankful for. Seriously, they should have realized way sooner that it was pointless. I was a bit of a rebel, and I wasn’t going to let them change how I write!
People always try to copy my pencil hold, just for fun, but they rarely succeed. I don’t understand what’s so complicated about it. It feels simple to me.
But none of that matters. I don’t mind if people think it’s strange or painful or cool. I don’t care if they want to tease me about it, nod in acceptance, or ignore it entirely.
All I care about is that it’s comfortable to me. It’s how I write, and I’m not changing that any time soon.
I’m proud to be unique.
I’m proud to be me.