" I can see clearly now"



I have a warped sense of humor. It's how I survived childhood. It's how I survive adulthood.  And it's the only way to survive Walmart.  I consider it one of my superpowers.  It serves me well.

It's a survival technique cultivated from years of practice living with screwed up family members who's life plan was poke the bear see what happens.  Growing up in the 60's with a bi-polar mother, nuns for teachers and school pictures that looked like this:





You need survival skills.

I was fitted with glasses in the 5th grade after failing the required eye exam at school.  The first test I ever failed.  Unless you count the time in 2nd grade when my overly creative mother helped me draw a picture of the Tree of Life for religion class.  She sketched pineapples and armadillos among other ridiculous things hanging from the tree. ( manic week).  Sister Mariana, named for the patron saint of the unamused, who was without a doubt around to see the actual tree, was not impressed.  I got an "F".  Who gives a 7 year old an F on a drawing? Crabby nuns do.  And it wasn't even my drawing.  Which is why I did not invite my mother to help out on eye exam day. 

Crabby nun: "Please read the top line on the chart"  [tapping on some object with a pointer]

Me: "What chart?" [squinting like I'm auditioning for the role of Madam Butterfly]

Crabby nun: "F"

Me:"shit"

Okay, I didn't say shit but I'm pretty sure I thought it.  No one in their right mind would have said that to a nun skilled in wielding rosary beads like nun-chucks and lived to fail another test.  Plus I was worried I'd have to do penance for failing a test and I wasn't sure of the Hail Mary to blindness ratio. 

By the time I failed my eye test I had racked up so many injuries you'd have thought one of my parents would have figured out I was nearly blind.  I had repeatedly misjudged distances such as the edge of a trampoline (broken leg) or the back of the sofa ( broken arm) or the distance from the back of an unridden colt to the ground ( broken arm- the sequel) ( my father thought it would be less frightening for the horse if he used me instead of a gunny sack to break him- it wasn't) or the distance from the apple to my index finger that i hacked up with a butcher knife revealing bone.  My field of vision was the size of a postage stamp.  It's a wonder that child protective services weren't alerted by my personal suite at the emergency room.  But this was the 60's so it was pretty much every kid for themselves.

The optometrist only had a couple of pair of glasses to choose from and based on my choice I can't imagine what was left on the shelf.  My grandmother cried when she saw me in them.  I kept pushing them up and down my nose amazed that other people had actually been able to see trees with individual leaves all this time.  It was like being Dorothy in Oz going from black and white to color ,without the midgets.  By the time we arrived home I had blood streaming down my face from doing the before and after tests with my new glasses rubbing the skin off my nose. 

Judging from my picture it was also the year my parents helped bolster my self-esteem by adding braces. I was most likely responsible for the tragic hairstyle that looks rats have been sucking on it. My father's favorite way to describe my or my sister's hair when he disapproved . "Looks like rats have been sucking on it".  Followed closely by his other favorite hit "people in hell want ice water".    Good times.

If tragic crap is the catalyst for forming a skewed outlook on life I was well on my way.  And I had skills.