Perspective

I sat in the four-chair waiting area three days ago, my back to the optical showroom. Several customers milled around behind me, I knew.

One man talked to the overweight female clerk flirtatiously, in the way some men do when they’re hoping for nothing more from a relationship than prompt service.

“I purchased them here,” he said. “Not long ago, either. But recently, I just haven’t been seeing well at all. I mean, I know I’m old, but I’m not that old, am I?”

For some reason, I pictured him reaching out and touching her hand with the “old” line. It could have been my imagination, but I don’t think so. She giggled like a schoolgirl.

“Oh, no. You’re just a young thing still,” she said.

I wondered if he’d removed his hand yet.

I hadn’t gotten a look at him, but the tone of his voice—including its teasing quality—touched strings of childhood memory, pressing the minor chord lightly until faint recognition registered in my mind.

“A haze is clouding my sight,” he said. “I’m hoping the doctor can see me.”

“Maybe she can work you in,” she said. “I’ll pull your chart. What’s your name?”

And then he said his name out loud, in front of God and everybody. I froze in place. If lightning struck, I wouldn’t want to be any closer. But nothing happened. No one reacted to the proclamation of his name at all, as if none of them read the newspapers, as if they didn’t remember—like I did—when this man was a Catholic priest.

Not just any former priest. One I’d idolized in my girlhood, even had a crush on. One who’d spent years, unbeknownst to us foolish girls, abusing young boys—a close relative of mine among them.

One who’s somehow managed to evade punishment, although the families of forty boys have come forward.

One who’s lost his vision.

Another clerk approached me then, carrying the new glasses I’d ordered. She opened them and handed them to me. I replaced my old ones with the new. I thought of the boy-turned-man in my famlly, who’s dead now along with so many of the abused. Men lost to cancer, and HIV, and fiery car crashes, and suicide—so many dead at such young ages.

I turned around then, just for a second, to be certain about the man’s identity.

Maybe it was the lenses or perhaps I struggled momentarily to focus through tears, but his eyes—icy blue, like I remembered—appeared to be coated with a long winter night’s frost.

My perspective had been altered, too. At a distance of several feet, he seemed so much smaller than he should have, a miniature version of the man I’d revered. I stood and took several steps his direction toward the exit. As I closed the gap between us, his stature filled my field of vision. But when I passed him, crossed the threshold, and looked once more over my shoulder, he’d shrunk again.

I wore my new glasses home, but they’re going to take some getting used to, I’m afraid.

I think I’ll hold on to my old ones a while longer.

Posted by Katy on 05/26/07 at 08:55 AM

Fallible Comments...

Oh, wow. I don't know what I would have said/done or not said/done.
Posted by Suzan on 05/26/07 at 01:50 PM
I cannot begin to imagine the feelings that went through your mind.
Posted by Beverly on 05/26/07 at 06:28 PM
Just finished "The Great Divorce" again. Perspective, perception, context and truth. Wow! Not many get that kind of up front experience and have the grace to learn from it and leave it. I certainly never have. God bless you, Katy!
Posted by Anne on 05/27/07 at 06:00 PM
Wow, this moved me.

I once shook hands with a noted Christian psychiatrist who ended up in prison for molesting boys. He was certainly never MY shrink, but he worked in the center where I had gone for workshops and counseling many years ago. His situation gave me the creeps, then a deep grief, for even his own wife of 30 years had not known his dark secret. At least his secret caught up with him. Maybe it was a relief---I dunno.

Well, I came here to tag you with a book meme and got all sidetracked with your interesting post. Katy, I love your writing. It spurs me on to write better and to keep growing in the craft.
Posted by Vicki on 05/28/07 at 02:42 PM
Ewww...gross...you don't need to say his name to me. I'm thinking I would have said something, but I don't know what...especially knowing what we know about Danny...
Posted by Bridget on 05/28/07 at 05:01 PM
You saw clear enough...and despite his recent eye troubles, this man has obviously never seen clearly.

What could you have said?

I can only think of one thing which would be "I forgive you for the person you are...but I do it for me."

Still sounds vengeful.

God's clarity is 20-20. Let Him do the speaking...and feel free to encourage Him to raise his voice when that time comes.

Learn from the past...trust in the future.

You now know who is worthy of being looked up to in your eyes...glasses or not.

M
Posted by Michael Main on 05/28/07 at 08:51 PM
Michael,
You are a better person, or at least in a better place, than me.
Bridget
Posted by Bridget on 05/29/07 at 08:33 AM
I read a good article in your blog.
Posted by antique trunk on 12/02/08 at 09:14 PM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	Perspective I sat in the four-chair waiting area three days ago, my back to the optical showroom. Several customers milled around behind me, I knew. One man talked to the overweight female clerk flirtatiously, in the way some men do when they’re hoping for nothing more from a relationship than prompt service. “I purchased them here,” he said. “Not long ago, either. But recently, I just haven’t been seeing well at all. I mean, I know I’m old, but I’m not that old, am I?” For some reason, I pictured him reaching out and touching her hand with the “old” line. It could have been my imagination, but I don’t think so. She giggled like a schoolgirl. “Oh, no. You’re just a young thing still,” she said. I wondered if he’d removed his hand yet. I hadn’t gotten a look at him, but the tone of his voice—including its teasing quality—touched strings of childhood memory, pressing the minor chord lightly until faint recognition registered in my mind. “A haze is clouding my sight,” he said. “I’m hoping the doctor can see me.” “Maybe she can work you in,” she said. “I’ll pull your chart. What’s your name?” And then he said his name out loud, in front of God and everybody. I froze in place. If lightning struck, I wouldn’t want to be any closer. But nothing happened. No one reacted to the proclamation of his name at all, as if none of them read the newspapers, as if they didn’t remember—like I did—when this man was a Catholic priest. Not just any former priest. One I’d idolized in my girlhood, even had a crush on. One who’d spent years, unbeknownst to us foolish girls, abusing young boys—a close relative of mine among them. One who’s somehow managed to evade punishment, although the families of forty boys have come forward. One who’s lost his vision. Another clerk approached me then, carrying the new glasses I’d ordered. She opened them and handed them to me. I replaced my old ones with the new. I thought of the boy-turned-man in my famlly, who’s dead now along with so many of the abused. Men lost to cancer, and HIV, and fiery car crashes, and suicide—so many dead at such young ages. I turned around then, just for a second, to be certain about the man’s identity. Maybe it was the lenses or perhaps I struggled momentarily to focus through tears, but his eyes—icy blue, like I remembered—appeared to be coated with a long winter night’s frost. My perspective had been altered, too. At a distance of several feet, he seemed so much smaller than he should have, a miniature version of the man I’d revered. I stood and took several steps his direction toward the exit. As I closed the gap between us, his stature filled my field of vision. But when I passed him, crossed the threshold, and looked once more over my shoulder, he’d shrunk again. I wore my new glasses home, but they’re going to take some getting used to, I’m afraid. I think I’ll hold on to my old ones a while longer. Posted by Katy on 05/26/07 at 08:55 AM Fallible Comments... Oh, wow. I don't know what I would have said/done or not said/done. Posted by Suzan on 05/26/07 at 01:50 PM I cannot begin to imagine the feelings that went through your mind. Posted by Beverly on 05/26/07 at 06:28 PM Just finished "The Great Divorce" again. Perspective, perception, context and truth. Wow! Not many get that kind of up front experience and have the grace to learn from it and leave it. I certainly never have. God bless you, Katy! Posted by Anne on 05/27/07 at 06:00 PM Wow, this moved me. I once shook hands with a noted Christian psychiatrist who ended up in prison for molesting boys. He was certainly never MY shrink, but he worked in the center where I had gone for workshops and counseling many years ago. His situation gave me the creeps, then a deep grief, for even his own wife of 30 years had not known his dark secret. At least his secret caught up with him. Maybe it was a relief---I dunno. Well, I came here to tag you with a book meme and got all sidetracked with your interesting post. Katy, I love your writing. It spurs me on to write better and to keep growing in the craft. Posted by Vicki on 05/28/07 at 02:42 PM Ewww...gross...you don't need to say his name to me. I'm thinking I would have said something, but I don't know what...especially knowing what we know about Danny... Posted by Bridget on 05/28/07 at 05:01 PM You saw clear enough...and despite his recent eye troubles, this man has obviously never seen clearly. What could you have said? I can only think of one thing which would be "I forgive you for the person you are...but I do it for me." Still sounds vengeful. God's clarity is 20-20. Let Him do the speaking...and feel free to encourage Him to raise his voice when that time comes. Learn from the past...trust in the future. You now know who is worthy of being looked up to in your eyes...glasses or not. M Posted by Michael Main on 05/28/07 at 08:51 PM Michael, You are a better person, or at least in a better place, than me. Bridget Posted by Bridget on 05/29/07 at 08:33 AM I read a good article in your blog. Posted by antique trunk on 12/02/08 at 09:14 PM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: Typical Previous entry: Ginormous Fallible Milestone! << Back to main


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri