Monday, February 3, 2020


     To be honest, I can't remember exactly when I learned about my issues with not seeing all of the colors--but most likely it was in my teens. Because that's my first memory of living with these eyes I inherited from my Mother.

     My cousin, Clarissa, also ended up with Tritanopia. When we were teenagers, we would ask to be dropped off at the mall for the usual teen activity: shopping. Bold Clarissa would often turn to a close-by woman, hold up an item of clothing and ask, "can you tell me what color this is?". Some women would look at our young smiling faces and assume we were part of Candid Camera or another kind of joke. But most would happily or cautiously answer. I can't remember if anyone would ask a follow-up question. They probably just wanted to escape. I think I would, too.

     Working in kindergarten, I could ask children for help. They rarely asked me why, probably because we're always asking them questions we already know the answer to. I can remember twice, during the years I worked, when I noticed a student with a color problem. I'd help them use the possible clues/strategies: crayons might still have their color word wrapper on or they could ask a table neighbor.

     And people I meet, who find out, will usually have a list of questions. Which caused me to fine tune my explanation--though I have no clue if it's a good one or not. But, it's the best I've come up with. My answer is that I can see the colors in the crayola box of eight, but I can only guess at the shades/hues in between.

     It's on my mind today, because the website where I learned the name of my color deficiency has put out an app with a new type of test. This morning's test, shows the severity of my Tritanopia is increasing. That's permission to dress however the hell I want . . . right? Don't worry, N, I'll still consult you (when I remember) when I buy something for the house. Hopefully.

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