When I was a kid, I utterly failed to master the art of putting shirts on frontwards. Undershirts, Tees, anything without buttons was hit-or-miss for me. I can't recall how my parents felt about it, but if they corrected me, they were kind and gentle.
If they hadn't been kind and gentle, I would remember, the way I remember being at summer camp when I was ten, mercilessly teased for wearing shirts backwards. A counselor took me aside and told me the sure-fire trick: Lay the shirt on my bed, front-side down. Then lift it up and put it on, and presto! It would go on the right way.
I carefully followed these instructions for three days; three horrible days of being told my shirt was backwards, and going back to the bunk until in desperation I got it right. On the fourth day, I tried to be analytical. That counselor had given me the solution! I must be doing something wrong.
Once again I laid the shirt on the bed, front side down. Then I watched myself like a hawk, as I reached out with my arms crossed and lifted the shirt. As I uncrossed my arms, the shirt twisted around backward. WHY HAD I DECIDED TO CROSS MY ARMS???
I got through the rest of camp with my shirts properly on.