Forget LSF's....I CAN'T SEE!

That may be a bit of an overstatement. I've always had a really difficult time with the whole seeing thing. This was blatantly obvious to me tonight, as I couldn't see the road in front of me. DAMN YOU, lacking night vision! Although I'm (thankfully) not legally blind, when I'm not wearing corrective lenses, my vision is generally about 20/800. Just for those of you that don't know, there is a big E at the top of the vision chart. For those of you who didn't know that, you most certainly will not know that there is a HUGE A above that.

Folks, I can't even see the A. 

Now, how does one become so utterly lacking in vision? When I was younger, I used to read voraciously. I would read at the dinner table. I would read during class, hiding the book under my desk. I would read in the dark with a flashlight. Notice how that last sentence is underlined? Yeah....I think that's why I can no longer see. My mother likes to tell the story of the first time she noticed I couldn't see, which was when I was in third grade. At the time, I had a (moronic) teacher who, TO THIS DAY, I remember could not differentiate between the pronunciation of "broad" and "board." (I am still pissed about her marking my spelling wrong when I TOTALLY spelled the word she announced to the class, but I digress...) Every day, my mom would drop me off at school then head back home, but this day, I forgot my lunch and she had to come in to drop it off to me.

::CUE SCENE::

My mom arrives at the classroom, where I am literally a foot away from the board writing down our "DOL" (Daily Oral Language or something stupid like that) problem.
My mother, to the teacher: "Why is Erica so close to the board?"
The moronic teacher: "Oh, she does that every day. She says she can't see the board."
My mother: "And you didn't think to tell me?"
The moronic teacher: vacant smile

Later that day

Mom: "Why were up at the board this morning?"
Me: "Because I couldn't see the board."
Mom: "What else can't you see?"
Me: "I dunno...if I can't see it, how do I know it's there?"
Mom: (backing up) "How many fingers am I holding up?"
Me: (squinting really hard) "Two?"
Mom: "I'm calling the eye doctor."

::END SCENE(s):: 

As an aside: I was an overachiever even back in grade school. When the school administered the hearing and vision tests, I literally thought I was being graded on them. So when I misidentified the panda bear as the birthday cake (how ISN'T that a dead giveaway, people?!?!?!), I totally played it off, like "Oh yeah, that's what I meant." And somehow, they believed me.

Just recently, my dad told me "the rest of the story," as Paul Harvey (may he rest in peace) would say. We were talking about my pitiful vision skills and he said, "I still remember the day you got your glasses." Your mom took you to the eye doctor, and when they gave them to you, you told her "Wow....I can see!!!!" Your mom told me "_______, I felt about two inches small." That still makes me laugh, because she needn't have. I literally didn't know what I was missing...because I just couldn't see it.

To this day, my mom tells me I owe her my sight. She fed me so many carrots and sweet potatoes when I was a baby, the palms of my hands and the bottoms of my feet turned orange. She swears without this extra beta-keratin, I would have been doomed to spend the rest of my life with a stick and a dog. My mom...the optimist.