Oh, You're in Trouble
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Little Brisby was sitting in the back of a dark classroom when a knock rapped on the door. Mr. S., who had been fiddling with the projector, huffed an exasperated breath. The third grade teacher wove his way through the grid of desks to answer the visitor. He flipped the light switch and paused, listening to the hisses from the children he'd blinded with the sudden flood of light. (Mr. S. was a bit of a sadist who loved to torment his students in subtle ways.)
He opened the door, spoke with the main office secretary in hushed tones, proof that he knew his students were straining their ears to hear what was being said. After a few moments, he called for little Brisby to come with him into the hallway.
Reluctantly, she stood, her mind frantically trying to think of what she'd done to be in trouble. Or worse, if she'd have to go to the guidance office for another session about her home life. A chorus of "Oooh's!" and "You're in trouble!" was gleefully sung by the peanut gallery of her classmates.
Brian, her playground nemesis, loudly added his thoughts that she should be kept inside during recess. See, the children liked to play rough during their free time. They'd try not to fly off of the merry go round as it was spun at furious speeds. There were races to run up the slides while other kids were coming down. Then there were the rings. Two combatants would start from opposite ends and battle each other with kicks while hanging on. Whoever lost their grip and fell before making it to the other side lost. Brian, being a sore loser, had lost the ring challenge to Brisby the day before and wanted her stuck in the auditorium with all of the other kids who had their playtime taken away. Sweet little Brisby made sure to 'accidentally' kick Brian's leg as she passed his desk.
In the hallway, Mr. S. sternly told little Brisby that the school nurse had just gotten off of a call with her mother. They knew that she hadn't given the letter she was given to hand off to her parents from a few months ago. Brisby flinched, remembering tossing the sealed note in the trash because she was worried that she would be in trouble. Mr. S. told her that her mother was on her way to pick her up from the school and to collect her things.
When her mother's van pulled up to the curb along the school some time later, little Brisby cautiously slid the door and climbed to the third row of seats. Her mother pulled away and drove on, not saying a word. The quiet ride felt like an eternity to Brisby, who knew that silence never boded well. The van passed the turn off of the county route towards home and continued on, passing through a nearby village and eventually pulling into a strip mall. Brisby's mother, cigarette mostly finished in her hand, told her to get out of the van.
The two walked along the sidewalk then stopped outside an Empire Vision Center entrance. Brisby's mother reached out and pulled her daughter into a hug. "You idiot," she said as she gripped her daughter tightly. "The schools said you need glasses. Why didn't you tell me? Do you know how embarrassing it was to have the nurse say I couldn't neglect your vision?"
Ashamed and also relieved, little Brisby started crying. "I thought I was in trouble." She gripped her mother, "Sorry, Mom."
Her mother laughed, "Oh, you're in trouble for hiding it! But, for right now, let's get you glasses."
art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics
I have a similar experience. I hid my failing vision as long as I could in 3rd grade until one of my teachers finally noticed and told my parents. Then, I still didn't wear the glasses I got until a teacher scolded me to. I was so self-conscious. I thought I'd be made fun of.
It's funny, I've heard from many people that they found out that they needed glasses in the third grade. That was when my youngest daughter began needing them as well. It would be interesting to find out if that is a common statistic.
I can imagine your hesitance to wear them. Kids have an unerring ability to figure out what makes someone uncomfortable and immediately create insults. Looking back, I remember getting picked on a little bit but nothing really sticks out as particularly mean. The worst that I can recall is (my name) Peepers. When you began wearing them, were you teased?
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