During my recent travels I met an astonishing number of people who had major visual disorders as children.
We who grew up with fractured vision are an interesting small minority, unable to play sports or accurately judge whether a cupboard is about to smash into our faces. But most of us learned an early shame over the fact of our strabismus, and until now it has been rare for me to find anyone to chat with about the subject.
For most people, growing up without depth perception is complicated but not intolerable; the mind adapts to the challenge. Mine certainly did – it was the corrective surgery at age fourteen that disrupted my ability to track and organize visual cues.
Though I did gradually develop from partial to full stereoscopic vision, it was disconcerting to say the least, and while I can pass simple 3-D eye tests there are many other things I can’t do. Over the last twenty years I have often chosen to view the world with one eye closed, and it has not escaped my notice that this is symbolic.
But tell that to a person with ordinary vision and you are met with dismay or embarrassment. Between my vision, the cancer, and the genetic disorder, not to mention the oddity of my career and lifestyle, there is very little I can say in the course of an average conversation that does not at least glance at a controversial or alarming topic.
I find it shocking that over the last few months I have ceased to care about such things. My reticence has fallen away without warning.
Tonight I was talking to someone at a party and mentioned my childhood cancer as it was pertinent to whatever topic we were trundling through.
He stopped, looked pensive, and said I’m sorry.
I laughed at him and said No you’re not. That is just a platitude.
He thought for a second and then agreed.
Our conversation proceeded to veer about in a perfectly pleasant fashion. It is so refreshing to meet people who are honest about these things.