2. My Two Left Feet: The Jig is Up!
How my Quirky Vision Shaped my Life
Let your eyes look directly ahead and let your gaze be fixed in the front of you. Proverbs 4:25
Bumping into Things
Crash! I bumped into the coffee table. Again.
“You need to watch where you’re going!” my parents said.
But I DID watch where I was going. Objects in the house just seemed to move themselves into my path to trip me. I hadn’t dropped the dish on purpose. I really thought I had laid it on the kitchen counter. And I didn’t mean to ride my bike into
a tree! It just sort of appeared in front of me before I could turn. I was full of bumps and bruises that probably would have garnered attention from Child Services in the 21st century.
“Focus!” my parents said, and I nodded, not really sure how I could focus on where I was going when my whole world was entirely out of focus.
“How could you not see this is NOT your coat?” my mother asked when I wore a boy’s navy blue coat home from school one day. I shrugged. My coat was the same color as his. I didn’t see the difference.
“Did you see the way Lucy got her head stuck?” my brother asked and laughed while we watched Saturday cartoons. Was that what was on the television screen? I’d wonder. Other people seemed to see things I just couldn’t make out.
Dodge ball is not for sissies
Those big red balls at school, for example. Why couldn’t I see one coming towards me? I ALWAYS got hit in dodgeball. Who invented that game anyway and how many concussions did it cause? And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to make my foot connect with the soccer ball. No one ever chose me to be on their team.
I didn’t really care. I’d rather sit out and read my precious books anyway.
I continued to cheat my way through the annual eye examination and found other ways to deal with my vision. I counted steps on the stairwell under my breath so I didn’t tumble. I followed my older brother as we rode our bikes through our quiet neighborhood, never veering off on my own. I felt for the edge of the counter so I didn’t drop any more dishes.
And I paid close attention in school, writing down in my own awkward notes whatever the teacher said. From my seat in the back of the room, courtesy of a last name beginning with a W, I was perplexed when the teacher would point at the blurry mess of squiggles and lines on the blackboard. Even the purple mimeographed papers passed from student to student back to me at the end of my row looked vague and foggy.
I was eight. It never occurred to me that the world should look any different than it did, that other people did not see the same things I saw. I got straight A’s in school. Except for my inability to walk across the flat tiles in the kitchen without tripping, my parents had no cause to worry.
Until the day my mother walked into my bedroom and caught me reading a book at least three grade levels above mine, my nose inches from the page.
You’ll hurt your eyes
“That’s not how you hold a book,” she said and gently pulled the book a few inches away. “You’ll hurt your eyes reading that way.”
“But now I can’t see the words!” I said.
“Sure you can.” She pointed with a red fingernail. I squinted at the print that was fuzzy and smudged.
I shook my head. “The letters went all foggy. I can’t tell what the words say.” I pulled the book back towards my face and read out loud, “Meg just knew she would win the blue ribbon in the competition. She and Blue had been jumping the hurdles for weeks.” I smiled at my mother in satisfaction.
My mother plopped onto my bed and called for my father. “Harvey! I think there’s something wrong with Linda’s eyes.” Then she turned back to me. “Maybe it’s just eye strain. Maybe you read too much.”
Read too much? Was there such a thing? My heart shattered at the very idea that my beloved books would be taken away.
My father joined my mother in my room. “We’ll need to take her to an optometrist,” he said and sighed. “Both my parents wear glasses. I guess we should have expected it.” He patted my head. “You probably need glasses.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. No one in my class wore glasses! I was already known as “the smart girl who can’t kick a ball.” Now I would be known as “the smart girl who can’t kick a ball and wears glasses.”
It was a dire fate, much worse than not being picked for a kickball team.
NEXT: 3. WHAT ARE THOSE THINGS IN THE TREES?
Way to encourage a child who needs glasses:
Look for some other age-like kids who wear glasses, in the neighborhood, your religious community, or on television or movies.
Let your child know ahead of time that they will be able to pick out their own glasses in their favorite color.
Talk to your child’s teacher and let them know that your child will be getting glasses. Teachers are great at making things positive!
If your child has a favorite stuffed animal or doll–like my beloved Teddy bear–get them a pair of plastic glasses at the dollar store.
And if you’ve got a cooperative family, try this!
I basically became insanely nearsighted in the sixth grade. I was mortified. I had no idea I couldn't see, the school nurse acted like it was a fatal disease because it occurred over the course of one year (which is why they check every year, right?). And my glasses made me feel uglier than I already felt. So. Many. Tears.