It’s hard to admit failure as a parent. We can easily hide our daily blunders–grumpiness, putting work first, not listening as intently as we should have, allowing donuts RIGHT before bed (you know you’ve done it too! I refuse to believe I’m the only one!). It is not so easy to pass off those failures that others can spot a mile away, however–those errors that affect our children’s daily activities like, say, forgetting to pick them up from play practice or letting them somehow leave the house without shoes or coats, or not realizing that they slipped through the clutches of bath night for 3 nights in a row…..and I’m only guessing here….(right) but these seem like good examples.
Recently I faced such failure. My oldest daughter has been complaining about her eyesight for about 2 months. I admit I sort of ignored her complaints because she had been in glasses before, only to be told a year later that her vision was perfect. I assumed, wrongly might I add, that this “fuzzy” vision was simply stress or imagination. So I put off making that eye appointment until this week. Imagine, if you will, a small dark room in the optometrist’s office. My daughter is sitting in the patient chair; I am sitting across from her against the wall. The first 5 or 6 rows of letters are displayed. I easily scan the letters, pulling off a triumphant (and silent) woot! as I realized I could read the 20/20 line (I am farsighted after all–thank you, middle age).
“What is the first line you can read” the doctor asks gently.
“None of those” she replied. My head juts forward as I look at her face and back up at the looming rows of letters. The doctor moves to the next 5 or 6 lines.
“What about now?”
“E” she says. THE TOP E. You know…the big one. The one at the very top of the list. My mouth is at my feet at this point and my head is swirling with a mixture of confusion and accusations at my apparent lack of concern for my child. I felt like crawling under the chair–had the doctor not been two feet from me I probably would have been there.
Commence with eye exam. The doctor places the lenses M would be wearing in front of her eyes. Her voice is brighter and excited as she realizes she can read the 20/15 line. She doesn’t make an error. We move out to the front room. She reads signs across the road with exuberance. *sigh* I’m sure everyone is glaring at me–judging me–at least I am judging me.
Explanations are becoming clear to me—the lack of singing at church (because she couldn’t see the words), the incessant questioning about who is singing on the radio (because she can’t see the letters on the XM station), the creeping up to the tv, the blinking, the squinting, the lack of book reading, the sheet music up to her forehead, the missing of notes on the piano. My head bowed low, I felt as tall as that letter E.
Where is your mom? Down there. Near your shoe.
FAIL. EPIC FAIL, MOM.
Hopefully, I can redeem myself. We picked out some cute artsy-fartsy glasses right up her aisle. I vow to tune in a bit more to what my kiddos are telling me. So…I guess two of us have clearer vision and we only paid for one exam. I guess THAT is a bonus.
(or my husband who has already been sneaking bites and walking around with his mouth cleverly shut–What? he says, mouth still closed.) Looks like I know what they are getting in their stockings this year!
