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When my vision-challenged daughter was
3, and I was pregnant with my second child, we got her glasses. It was a long
process involving many different opticians (配镜师)over the course of a year, because of my
daughter's overwhelming desire to scream and fly into a temper any time we
tried to have her eyes examined. The fourth optician was amazing while my
daughter didn't cooperate, she performed various miracles and managed what she
called a “best guess” at her prescription.
“Start with this,” she said. “When she
realizes she can see better, bring her back, and we can try for something more
accurate.”
I didn't want to pay $300 for glasses that
might be replaced in a month's time, so I decided to bring her straight to a
Walmart optical. Things were going on well, until the optician needed to take
an additional measurement, which would involve holding a ruler up to her eyes
and measuring the distance between the outer corner of one eye and the inner corner
of the other.
“Are you sure you need the measurement?” I
asked. “She's really not cooperative when it comes to the eye-testing stuff.”
“We definitely need to have it, we can't
fill her prescription without it.” the optician said.
But my daughter would not let the optician
anywhere near her face with the small plastic ruler. She started yelling and
crying, and we took her off to the side and promised we'd get ice cream
afterward if she let the nice lady hold the ruler near her nose! The optician
gave us the ruler, thinking we would have an easier time, but when my daughter
knew we needed to hold the ruler near her face, which, in toddler logic, meant
a life-or-death situation, she prevented us from getting anywhere near her.
Finally, my husband and I agreed that one
of us would have to hold her down and the other would take the measurement. I
sat on the floor trying to hold her head still while my husband tried to get an
accurate reading on that stupid ruler. Despite her struggle and scream, we
finally got it. My daughter stopped crying three seconds later and went back to
play as if nothing had happened.
There is no version of this story where I
feel comfortable us even if it was for her own good. I felt awful wondering, if
magically know what to say to get her cooperation? The weeks spent with a
special book about wearing glasses, telling her how great glasses were... I
could feel tears welling up and I thought, “I can't cry. I'm sitting on the
floor of a Walmart optical centre. I can't cry here.”
And there it was the final thing I could
not bear. It w already reduced me to sitting on the floor of a Walmart optical
p toddler down to press a ruler against her face and do it for the packed
Saturday audience of all the Walmart checkout counters. I cried. Big,
shoulder-shaking sobs. Sitting right there on the floor of a Walmart, behind
the optical counter.
Five days later, the Walmart optical centre
called. They said my daughter's glasses were ready for pickup and I should
schedule an appointment with the optician so that we can have them properly
fitted. I said I'd be picking up the glasses alone and we would do the fitting
another day. She insisted that the fitting was crucial, to which I replied, “I
don't know if you were working last Saturday, but my daughter is really not
cooperating on this whole glasses thing. I'd prefer to just pick them up.”
Silence. Then she said, “I was there last Saturday, I remember you. Absolutely,
you can pick them up any time.”