I felt sorry for Preston. He sat in front of me in the third grade and he consistently made the grievous sin of being messy. Mrs. Parker couldn't tolerate sloppiness, and Preston was definately that. True, when it was time to turn in assignments, he had to rummage through his desk for ages, and I'm sure Mrs. Parker was irritated by the delay. His desk was crammed full of old homework, lunch bags, and other odd assortments of things. When he finally did find his paper, it was crumpled and had a pickle stain on it.
Mrs. Parker was a short, no-nonsense kind of teacher, and always reminded me of a pit bull. If she had gotten a hold of you, it was not likely that you'd get turned loose again. I remember Preston cringing, and often missing recess because Mrs. Parker said he must clean out that abominable desk. Poor Preston.
Watching him, I never wanted to draw Mrs. Parker's attention or disapproval to me. I was extra careful and followed her instructions as closely as possible. However, I was finding it increasingly difficult to see the things she wrote on the chalk board. I was afraid to tell her, and I would squint and ask people around me what she had written. One day, as the class was filing out for recess, Mrs. Parker called me to her desk. I was sure I was in trouble for talking and I prepared my skinny self for the worst.
"Are you having trouble seeing the board, Ms. White?" Mrs. Parker asked. Note to grown-ups, using a child's last name is a highly effective way to scare the crap out of them. I swallowed.
"I guess, I mean, I don't know?" I was nervous. Was I in trouble?
"I want you to take this note home to your mom," said Mrs. Parker, and placing a note in my bag, she ushered me back out to join my classmates on the playground.
A note from your teacher is never a good thing. And they're always smart, they staple it, or tape it, and there's no telling what's in it, no chance to prepare yourself for the worst. I knew it had something to do with whether I could see the board or not, but in my third grade brain, it seemed like there was still a possibility that I was in trouble for something.
So, with the note tucked carefully in my bag, I had the rest of the day to sweat it out.
Well, my fears were fortunately unfounded, and the note was only a suggestion to have my eyes checked. Mom took me that week, and as was suspected, my vision was poor. I proceeded to pick out the biggest, squarest, purplest pair in the store. They were ready a few days later, and with great anticipation, we picked them up.
This is the real point of the story.
The day I got my glasses was the first epiphany of my life.
Who knew you could actually see the leaves on a tree? Each excrutiatingly detailed leaf waved at me as we drove home from the doctors office.
Who knew you could see each rock of the gravel in our driveway? I looked down at my feet as they crunched over the thousands of rocks leading to our doorstep.
Who knew you could see the pastors face in church as he preached? I marveled at the expressions and intensity as he spoke and the fists he made as he emphatically pounded the podium.
Who knew you could see the wings on the birds as they flew over, or the unique shapes the clouds formed in the sky, or the clumps of clover that grew on the hill beside our house? I was dizzy with what I could see.
Who knew? I had lived the first eight years of my life assuming that everyone saw like I did. I had no idea of the detail I was missing, I was blissfully unaware, until that moment, the stylishly large glasses slid onto my nose, and my world changed.
It was almost like a right of passage. Seeing the world like it truly was, I felt priviliged and awed.
Few moments in life have equaled that instant. The kind of moment that sucks the breath out of your lungs, and you know that life will never be the same again.
I find the application of that moment as one of the greatest lessons I've learned in life. I relive it, and I am so grateful for the impairment, just for the sake of the revelation. The revelation that sometimes you think you see everything- you live your whole life thinking others see the same things you do, and then, in an instant, your eyes are opened to a whole new reality, a whole new depth.
One more thing.
With my lovely new glasses, I could see the chalk board. I could see each word, follow each lesson. I could also see Mrs. Parker. I realized, she smiled a lot more than I thought she did. She even smiled at Preston and his pickle stains sometimes.
It was a beautiful epiphany, any way you look at it.
Pun intended.
Great story! I think you write wonderfully.
Posted by: andy at October 29, 2003 01:19 AMI think I remember you talking about this very thing, or well maybe just the surface scratchings of this very thing when you got your first glasses. I also think I remember being jealous of your "pinkish purple" glasses and the fact that you were seeing for the first time what I could always see, but you were seeing it "better and cooler" than I was for some reason. The whole philosophy of "Make me blind so I can see" theory comes to mind here. Guess that was what I wanted.
Posted by: ashley at October 29, 2003 09:27 AMShannon, had a very similar experience. Except it happened when I played little league baseball. My first year I couldn't hit a bloody thing, 'cause I couldn't see a thing, and didn't realize it.
Then that next spring for some reason my parents decided to have my eyes checked. I got those big, dorky, thick brown rimmed glasses where I entered my first massive phase of geekdom (ugly glasses, braces, and coming off 3 solid years of homeschooling straight into private school junior high).
Regardless of the social crap I received at the hands of the most hateful ethnic group/demographic anywhere (children), I made the all-star team my next two years, batting somewhere in the high .400's
Though a more epiphany like experience was when I first put on contacts, I think when I was 15 or 16. It was like "holy crap, this is how the rest of the world sees!" Well, the rest of the world that doesn't wear glasses.
Posted by: JosiahQ at October 29, 2003 09:58 AMI think all of us who got glasses as kids have had the same experience. "Wow, you can see the individual leaves on the trees! Wow, you can see people's faces from far away!"
Thanks for the post. It was good readin'.
Posted by: Krista at October 29, 2003 10:20 PMi had the same type of experience. i was 5 i think. my mom says she almost cried when the doctor told her that i could see the leaves on the trees now. she also says that when i walked out of the office with my new purple glasses (later to be followed by electric blue and light pink, respectively) i was just in dropped-jaw-awe of everything i could see. but it's like you said...how could we know?
Posted by: jessie bessie at October 30, 2003 08:13 AMBeautiful story, really, really good.
Posted by: SonofThunder at October 30, 2003 09:47 AMme too.
the whole shabang,
but particularly
the discovery that it is possible
to see individual leaves on a tree
you aren't actually IN at the time.