On our hike the other day, Middle, who was pretending we were in Africa, kept seeing giraffes. When I admitted that I had missed seeing any myself, she observed, “Well. Some people are color-blind, and some people are detail-blind, and some people are giraffe-blind. And you are giraffe-blind.”
A bit devastating, to learn one is giraffe-blind. I’m taking comfort in the hope that maybe I can learn to see them, not just imagine them, out in the woods in Midwestern America. I think my children would be willing to teach me.
And in the meantime? I’m in love with Middle’s understanding of detail-blindness. Along with the underlying assumption that neither of us is afflicted. Even though, if pressed, we both might have to admit that we mostly just see the important details.
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