Timed Panic

If you were to ask me about my younger days when passing as someone who was relatively normal seemed crucial, you might want to know what the most difficult thing happened to be. My greatest difficulty was taking the work product of an entire day, getting the proper books or papers in my bag and getting to the bus before it would leave. Before that, I had a terror of something my family called "eye therapy." I remember it well enough to note that the actual eye doctor and staff were almost always kind. Unfortunately, I was forced (possibly encouraged gently but induced nonetheless) to play a game called "Perfection." Writing the word gives me a quick thrill of dread.

The game was designed to promote better eye-hand coordination by having the player place little plastic pieces into the proper shaped holes. Each piece could only fit into its own hole and then only when turned to the appropriate angle. My terror of this game is such that I find myself wondering just how many peaces there were. I guessed 100 based on nothing at all but decided there could not have been 100 pieces. Then again, 100 pieces is simply ten rows of ten. I can imagine that fitting into the available space. I'm certain that 100 is simply the product of my ongoing terror with this game that some children (like Melissa) played for pleasure.

In any case, my terror of "Perfection" led to the first time I can remember resisting any kind of therapy. I played an obnoxious game of watching my father write a check for the session in the car and then tearing that check to some degree or another. I don't remember if I ever reached the point of tearing it completely in half or maybe I started with that and had nowhere to go from there. I do remember it relieving a certain degree of frustration to know that I was inflicting my own tiny bit of distress on everyone else involved. Denying that I knew anything about it was part of the game for me. I didn't enjoy it but this was the first example I can remember of me taking a stand against something that bothered me terribly.

Of course, that horrible game wasn't the full extent of the issue for me. Red/greens are based on a very simple princple. I would be forced to wear glasses resembling movie theater 3D glasses with one side covered in red cellophane and the other in green cellophane. The TV would be covered the same way except on opposite sides. If my left eye was covered with red, the left side of the TV was covered in green. This was supposed to train me to see with binocular vision because trying to see something covered in red through the green side of the glasses made that side turn black. If I only used one eye at a time, one side of the screen would be black constantly. I hated red/greens but they were among the most petty of cruelties.

It was far worse when my father would enter the room, see me focusing through one eye (so that the other drifted) and stick his hand up to block the vision of the eye that was focused. The result of this was a room that tilted sharply and went out of focus for a split second. As I got older, this made me so dizzy that it was all I could do to remain standing. A very small part of me wished he tried it one more time after I escaped his control. As far as I'm concerned, this was an assault upon my person and I used to want to see just how badly I could hurt him with surprise on my side. He wised up and I'm willing to admit that this is far more likely related to the fact that I fall down just fine on my own these days and could be injured by his "help" than by any realization that I had so much rage.

What did all this eye therapy teach me? It taught me to cheat very effectively where my eyes were concerned. My left eye is my diistance eye while my right eye is best used for reading. I learned this from an eye specialist whom I had been taught to fear. "He'll prescribe glasses for sure since you won't learn how to use both eyes." The doctor thought my father's ideas on eyesight were pretty funny. The doctor told me that he could get me some improvement in my right eye which might lead to binocular vision. It was more likely to undo the adaptations I'd come up with and lead to future right eye strain. We reached this conclusion together based on all the facts.

I was able to live without any trouble from my eyes. How did I drive? I turned my head sideways a little and measured lateral distance instead of pure depth. Since I figured this out on my own, I learned that professional baseball players apply this principle despite having some of the very best eyesight in the world. The line drive hit directly at the center fielder is considered to be the most difficult play he has. In order to make it a little easier, he takes the ball off to the side a little when he can.

Unfortunately, we have to get back to that miserable game called "Perfection." Every aspect of school life was timed and I fell a little more behind as the day went on unless I took shortcuts. You know what they say about shortcuts. You only end up getting lost and losing more time. Instead of putting papers away the way I wanted to, I just stuffed them in my bag, desk or locker depending on grade level. I am certain that I could have benefited greatly from step by step instructions on how to improve. I can only imagine what they might be now. I just know that I did not get the help that I needed. I also know that I did not ask for this help. Other people did not need it and I bought into the whole mainstreaming issue wholesale.