You Hit a.....What?

I was born with an eye condition called strabismis or wandering eye. There are pictures of me as a small child and if you look closely, one of my eyes is looking at the camera and the other is looking at the bird on the other side of the yard. I don't remember being bothered by my "lazy" eye. But it was not normal and so my parents did the right and proper thing and had my eyes "fixed". There were a total of 3 surgeries when I was a child starting at age five and ending when I was nine. I was the kid with the black pirate eye patch. Lord, but I hated that eye patch! Why three surgeries? That's a good question. Only one eye was effected so you would think that they would have only had to fix that eye. Personally, I think the surgeons botched the first one, operated on the second to compensate and then, for good measure, messed with the first eye a second time. It is probably too late to bring a malpractice suit, huh?

So my eyes were fixed and I no longer looked over someone's shoulder with one eye when they talked to me. Well, most of the time. When I was very, very tired they would still wander. In high school and college my friends would just assume that I was high. However, looking as if you had been indulging during the work day was not cool. (I finally had a forth operation a few years ago to correct the corrections. My eye surgeon assures me that my eyes will work properly together for the next 50 years or until I kick.)

The operations as a child left me with one little bitty problem. I have no depth perception. None. I can not tell you how far it is to that tree out the window. Feet, yards...meaningless to me. I walk into the occasional table edge, but no more then the normal person. But forget games that involve moving objects such as a ball or Frisbee. I would swing the racket or go up for the catch and the ball would just not be where I thought it was. Games where the ball bounces are a bit easier as I can hear the sound of the ball hitting the ground much like a bat uses echolocation. There was a 50/50 chance I would be able to hit the ball.

I have been hit in the head more times then I care to remember. I still tend to close my eyes when someone tosses me something....and I still get hit in the head with flying objects if I forget to duck. Ducking, especially when I played volleyball in high school, was my fool proof playing strategy. I cringe when I think back on how that must have looked. Tall skinny girl folding her body into a near fetal position with her arms wrapped around her head to protect herself from the hurtling ball. Is it any wonder that I was always the last girl to be picked??

I got my drivers license when I was 16. My Mother was thrilled and so was I. She liked the fact that there was someone else in the household who could run errands. I was thrilled, as most teenagers are, to have some freedom. By the time I was 17, I was a confident driver. Experienced and teenage cocky. My lack of depth perception hadn't hindered my ability to drive. My brain seemed to be able to compute the length and width of the car.

The winter of 1978 was a humdinger in Connecticut. We had several major snow storms in succession. There was at least 3 feet of snow on the ground and the snow banks lining the roadways were, in my memory, at least a mile high. Late one afternoon I picked up my 4 year old baby sister from nursery school. My ride was my Moms 1974 gold Vega. Not classy, but it ran. We used to carry a case of motor oil in its truck as it often needed to be fed at inconvenient times. My sister was buckled into the back seat as I drove down Prospect Ave on the way to the market.

Now, this is a very important point. The fire engine was parked. On my side of the road. Traffic was backed up in either direction as cars squeezed through the narrow corridor. Because of the snow banks the fire engine was parked practically in the middle of the street. After almost 30 years I still need to justify, clarify the events of that afternoon. I mean, heck, it could have happened to anyone...right?

When it was finally my turn to creep by I was very focused on not hitting the car coming toward me in the other lane. I knew I had plenty of room to get around the fire engine. How could I miss it? It was BIG and RED. The Vega came to an abrupt stop as the front right corner of my Mom's car collided with the left rear corner of the fire truck. Oh My God! Thankfully the speed was so low that we were not hurt. I was just badly freaked out. So freaked out that when I pulled around to park in front of the engine I miscalculated and hit it again. The sound of metal scraping against metal was deafening. Now that takes true talent!

The next two hours were a nightmare. My sister started crying. The firemen were amused and a bit miffed that I had dinged their precious baby. I couldn't see any damage on the fire engine at all. The Vega, on the other hand, looked seriously worse for wear. My sister and I sat in the cold car and waited for almost an hour for the cops to come. The ticket was for "Failing to pass a parked vehicle on the left". Yeah, I had failed alright. After receiving my ticket and lecture from the cops, I got back into the car to go home. Forget the market. Only the car would not start. My baby sis had been listening to the car radio while she waited and the battery was dead. I was close to whimpering at that point. I left her in the car (yes, I left a four year old alone in an unlocked car!) and hoofed it through the snow to the closest pay phone. No cell phones back in those days. I called my Dad and had to recount the whole ugly story. By the time I finished he was laughing so hard he could barely talk.

25 minutes later he arrived with our second car to give me a jump. Only he hooked up the cables wrong and blew his battery. Back down to the pay phone once again to call a tow truck. After another 30 minute wait it arrived and got both of the cars running. I collapsed when we finally arrived home.

It took me years and years before I could find humor in this story. Other members of my family found it very humorous and brought it up often.

Recently, as I was driving with the kids through a major rainstorm, I reassured them by saying "Don't worry. Mommy's a good driver. I don't drive into things." It was at that moment that my lovely 13 year old daughter piped up and said, "Only parked fire engines! Right, Mom?" Yes, Dear. Twice.