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| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
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February
/ March 2007 Contest Results |
And The Oscar
Goes To...
By
Juliana LeRoy,
California
I am the luckiest mom on earth. My kids are cute, smart, funny, and
highly entertaining. They do stuff and I think, I couldn’t have made
that up if I tried for weeks on end. This is one such story, and I saved
it until now so as to not terrify the teacher who would be having Megan
in her class this year. (Mrs. E. has met my daughter now, so she will
appreciate this little tale.)
Last May I got a phone call at 9:30 in the morning. Caller ID said it
was Windsor Unified School District. I answered with my heart in my
throat, doing that instantaneous panic of mentally driving a kid to the
emergency room while wondering which kid it was this time.
It was Megan’s first grade teacher, Mrs. O.
“Hello, I’m calling because I’m wondering if there is any reason that
you can think of that would make Megan feel she’s lost her vision?”
Excuse me? Lost her what? Are we talking metaphorically or actual sight,
here? I blinked a few times and allowed as to how the child had been
able to see perfectly fine when I dropped her off a scant hour ago.
“Well, she’s saying she can’t see,” Mrs. O. went on, and I detected a
suppressed laugh.
I offered to come relieve the teacher of my child, but she said she
thought she’d do just fine, and to not worry about it. Mrs. O. was used
to my creative little six year old at this point, and I think she was
looking forward to watching the day unfold. She didn’t so much HAVE
Megan in her class as she GOT to have Megan in her class, like a perk:
you can always count on her livening up a random Thursday.
Later I went to the classroom to help for an hour. Mrs. O. was in the
reading corner, with kids piled around her listening to a story.
“Megan, your mom is here!” several voices chimed.
My daughter turned, saw me, and her face did one of those slideshows of
thoughts: Hey, it’s Mom. Oh, wait, it’s MOM. Oh, no, it’s MOM.
“Megan can’t see,” several kids informed me.
“You know what? I think she can see just fine,” I countered, watching my
daughter’s eyes.
“Don’t say that!” one of the girls chided. “That’ll hurt her feelings.”
I stayed during the rest of the story, and then it was time to go to the
library. A few classmates were helping Megan by leading her by the elbow
across the classroom and then across the campus, since, you know, she
couldn’t see, and all, but once in the library she managed to find two
books perfectly easily.
(Side note: One was titled “Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire” and the other had
two crocodiles on the cover, identical except that one wore glasses. I
swear to you, I wish I could make that up, but there it is: fact is
stranger than fiction, every time.)
While in the library I sat across from Megan at a little table and asked
what she thought might be going on.
“Well, when I went to the eye doctor, she said my vision might change in
the future,” Megan said.
(This was true. In December she had had an eye exam, to rule out vision
problems in her scattered, distract-able ways. She can see just fine,
much to her chagrin – she wanted to wear glasses.)
I leaned in close, and informed her, “In the future meant like, high
school. Not May.”
Megan’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
Later that afternoon Megan caught a fly ball out of an overcast sky at
T-Ball and then sang and danced in the Open House performance with the
rest of the first graders. Her other teacher, Ms. C, expressed amazement
at the recovery, having been told of the “vision problems” earlier that
day.
“Yep,” I said, “she’s cured. The way to cure her is to take her chin in
your hand and say firmly, ‘LOOK at me, LOOK at me.’ Poof! It’s a
miracle! She can see!”
Hallelujah.
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