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IT WAS TIME
TO COLOR MY WORLD |
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My wife put down the morning Chronicle a couple of weeks ago
and announced that my longtime disability was a thing of the past.
"I'm buying these sunglasses that will cure your
red-green blindness," she said, referring to the front page story
about a Berkeley company called EnChroma that made corrective sunglasses.
"Finally, you'll be able to dress better and appreciate art."
I had read the story and ignored it. I'd heard about this
technology for a couple of years and avoided the temptation to try it. I
didn't want to know what I'd been missing for the last 67 years.
Red-green color blindness affects about 8% of Caucasian males
and hardly any females, thanks to chromosomes or something. Mark Twain,
Paul Newman and Mark Zuckerberg are some of my fellow sufferers. They've
done okay with it, and so have I.
"I'm satisfied with my eyes being a little
disabled," I replied. "In case you hadn't noticed, I don't need
glasses for either reading or distance. Maybe I have perfect eyesight
because they haven't been worn out over the years from seeing too many
colors."
She's never really appreciated my perfect eyesight, except in
restaurants when she forgets her reading glasses and needs me to read the
menu to her. But she didn't buy my argument that my perfect eyesight had
anything to do with an easier workload.
Instead, she preferred to focus on my inability to match
wardrobe colors. Both of us were a little frustrated from me walking out
of the bedroom, dressed for a night out, and her looking me up and down
and simply saying, "No." Back I'd go to try again.
"It's time you blossomed," she said as she went on
the internet and quickly ordered a $279 pair of EnChroma sunglasses that
would change my world. "They'll be here in three days. Get
ready."
I was nervous, but I owed her a shot. I'd blamed my
disability long enough for my lack of appreciation of art museums, my
failure to determine the color of a plant, and my utter disregard of
fashion. There was a cure, and after 67 years of blandness, it was time I
tried it.
As I waited for my new sunglasses to arrive, I thought about
the kaleidoscope of colors that would cascade upon me. I worried about
whether I'd be upset about all the years I've missed, and wondered if I'd
want to wear the sunglasses all the time, unable to go back to the boring
landscape of my previous life.
I was ready, though. When the sunglasses arrived a few days
later, I eagerly ripped open the box and caressed my new life-changing
friend. But I couldn't just put them on right away. This defining moment
required a performance.
I waited for my wife to come home. When she did, we opened a
bottle of wine, poured a couple of glasses, and stepped onto our porch in
the fading sunlight. As I prepared to place the sunglasses over my
disabled eyes, we clinked our glasses and made a toast to modern science.
And then, I gently slipped them on, and gazed at our garden.
"IT LOOKS THE SAME!" I cried, not the least bit
disappointed. "A little brighter maybe, but I can hardly tell the
difference in the colors. I HAVEN'T MISSED MUCH AT ALL!!"
I was elated. My life hadn't been a colorless wasteland after
all. My wife, ever skeptical, pulled up the Ishihara test off the
internet, where a red-green challenged person sees one number in a maze of
colored dots, and normal people see another.
I took off the glasses and saw the number 14. I put the
glasses on and saw the number 72, which is what she saw. Case closed. I
proved once again I was red-green blind, much to her dismay, but the
difference was minimal.
"You know what this means?" she asked as I
constantly took the glasses on and off and marveled at how little I'd
missed.
"I sure do," I answered, a little chagrined.
"All those excuses over the years about my red-green disability
hampering my lifestyle aren't going to hold up anymore. The bottom
line is I have no taste!!"
She patted me gently on the shoulder. "Yep, you're just
a lousy dresser with no appreciation for art."
It didn't bother me a bit. I was still delighted I hadn't
missed out on a lifetime of color, as I'd feared. I may not mix them well,
but at least I can see them. |
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