Summary
The mysterious, holy providence of God’s design stands in relief, revealed in a child’s unwavering love and vision of his mother.Motherhood is often a shared experience. When my oldest son was a toddler, other mothers would approach me and ask questions such as, “When did yours start walking?”
After I answered, she would share when her child started walking. It was something I quickly grew accustomed to. “When did he start teething? Mine teethed early.” “When did he start crawling? My daughter was a late crawler.”
It seemed that every experience that I lived through as a mother was experienced more or less by every other mother on the planet. Though it can be mundane, there is something comforting in meeting milestones, in typical development, and in watching your little one begin to grow beyond the infancy stage and truly grow into the child of God that He created them to be.
Beginning the Journey
When my son turned 4, I began searching for a homeschool program for him and enrolled him in Seton Home Study. After the materials and books arrived, we set up our little homeschool area in our home, and we were excited to begin.
We took our “First Day of Preschool” photo and posted it online, which, of course, was met by mothers of all walks of life remembering when their child started preschool, sharing their child was also in preschool, or likening my son’s blond hair to their own child’s.
As we began, my child loved the lessons, the crafts, and the triangular-shaped crayons that we were provided. I quickly noticed that, like myself, he was left-handed. I was delighted that there was something unique about him that set him apart from most of the other kids.
Everything was easy for him, even his cutting and pasting looked great! There were no choppy scissor
marks, the appropriate amount of glue, and perfectly colored pictures. But I couldn’t help but notice that the trees were orange.
When we went through the primary colors, he was able to identify them, but every time he colored a tree, the entire tree was always orange. “Trees aren’t orange.” I would constantly remind him. He loved the program and completed the year with interest and ease.
Providence in Disguise
As we planned to homeschool kindergarten, the surprising news of my husband’s sudden military deployment led to a series of unexpected events. We learned that when my husband got back from his deployment, our family would be heading back to my home state of Virginia from Colorado.
We were allowed to move ahead of my husband, but the military wouldn’t pay for our stuff to be moved until he returned. We said goodbye to my husband and goodbye to Colorado.
The two boys and I moved to Virginia, with our stuff waiting in a storage unit. With a deployed husband, a couple of suitcases, and the keys to an unfurnished fixer-upper, I opted to distract my son with a traditional Catholic kindergarten program.
After a couple of months of settling in, it was time for my first parent-teacher conference. I waited in the hallway, where all the children in the class had colored images of the Blessed Mother. Blue mantles, yellow stars, and tan skin were constant across all the images.
As I made my way through the images, I searched carefully through the names written on the bottoms. I neared the end, not yet locating my child’s art. “Finally.”
I thought to myself, seeing my son’s name written in pencil. I glanced up, prepared to be gleefully delighted by his artistry.
Seeing Through His Eyes
The lines were meticulously colored in. Mary’s mantle was soft blue, and the stars were a golden yellow. But our dear Blessed Mother was green. Not a soft green.
A seasick pirate meets the illustrated version of Gollum green. I was mortified.
As the conference began, the teacher shared with me that my son was doing well. I was relieved. Then she mentioned, “He seems to get shades of greens, oranges, and browns confused. Do you think he could be color blind?”
Turns out, he is color blind. It’s called Protanopia. He struggles mostly with shades of green, brown, and orange. Like his left-handedness, he inherited it from my side of the family, which I had been aware was possible but never considered.
The suggestion from his teacher was met with a sudden jolt of compassion for my son and gratitude that our change of plans had allowed someone else to notice something I missed.
The crayon perfectly colored in the lines of the green Mother Mary suddenly shifted from the doings of a naughty little boy to the hard work of a little one trying his best to honor his Heavenly Mother.
The moral of the story is threefold. There is nothing wrong with the shared, typical experience of motherhood. Trees aren’t orange. If your child fancies green as a skin tone, he might be colorblind.
