In seventh grade, I got hit in the face with a softball. (Could’ve easily been eighth. Damn time flies.) Kerplunk. Smack on the bridge of the nose – blood, emergency room and all. This is the day my dad doesn’t like to remember. I’m not too fond of it, either.
In school I made excellent grades, sat toward the front of the classroom and got things done. I had my tricks. I had my ways. I was successful in not revealing the tiny fact that I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see the chalkboard for sure. In fact, I couldn’t really see past the desk in front of me. But man was I good at making it work. A middle school kid with braces doesn’t want glasses on top of that, am I right?