You know how there are moments in your life which define you? And moments in your life when you know, you just know, that your life will never be the same. Well, this is the story of one such moment. I wish I could recall the exact time and place, but I can't. Because moments like these are not important because of the numbers on a calendar or the time and place. They are important because from them, there can never be, will never be, any going back.
My family consists of my wife and our two kids. Our son is our oldest, and our daughter came along when he was six years old. That's a good spa: six years. More than some, less than others. It worked real well in our case. But this moment I'm writing about was a long time coming. And our daughter, Kristen Joy, had everything to do with it.
You see, my father was color blind. Like most color blind folks, he had one or two week colors, and he was good with other colors. So, as my wife and son watched me pick odd colors to paint rooms, or to upholster couches, or as they saw me stop and ask what color a card was when we were playing a game, they just began to assume that I had inherited Papa's shortcoming. It was obvious. But it was also not true. I have perfect color vision. I just don't happen to agree with what color goes with what, and that has always been the case.
So this one particular moment - we had invited our little baby girl into the world that was the Wolf family. Being "Raised by Wolves" is really not such a bad thing. She was the darling of her mommy, her daddy, and her big brother right from the start. She stole our hearts, and I think I could forgive her anything. Anything. But back to the moment in question: we were playing some table game. She was just so very young at the time, so I guess it was some very simple game. But at one point I had to make a simple choice. I had to go with the blue, or the green. It was so simple. I made my choice, and I called it. But I guess I must have been pointing at green when I said "blue," because everything stopped and all eyes were on me. I looked from one face to another, and I began to see that there was a problem.
I pointed to a nice sea-green vase on the shelf and said, "THAT's a sort of a blue, right?"
Silence.
I pointed to several other objects around the room which, to me, drifted between the pure blue and the honest green. "That?" I asked, "that?"
"No daddy," said my son, shaking his head as if he had just told somebody they had four months to live.
I looked at him to see if he was kidding around. No. I looked at my wife. A look of sorrow met my gaze, but no humor. This was it. This was the moment. Whatever happened next would determine if I was out or in as far as this family was concerned. Whatever happened next would set the stage for the special relationships this daddy and his kids would share for the rest of eternity. Whatever happened next would set the stage for the life and happiness of this alpha male for decades. Decades!
And so it happened - I finally gathered my courage, and looked into the pleading eyes of my little girl. This was that moment. My life was about to be altered in such a profound way that I couldn't even begin to imagine at that moment, and now, almost twenty years later I still don't know if I have a handle on it. But..
I looked into her eyes, pointed at the bluish - greenish thing, and said, "blue?"
For such a young, innocent face to take on such a look of deep regret, you would think it had to be fully aware of what was really taking place. But there is no way such a young child could know. Could she? I still have no answer all these years later, but I will never - as long as I live - forget her sad, sorrowful look as she reached out and took my big rough hand in her tiny, smooth one and said,
"Well, it's a type of blue, daddy."
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