I would like to state that everyone, at some point, experiences sensory perception difficulties. These are not the types of conditions described in a neurology textbook but, rather, deficits that are household specific. I have observed that these conditions can affect our ability to see, hear, taste, and even smell.
I recently had an experience that made me realize I had developed the visual processing disorder commonly associated with adults when their children become teenagers. Because this stage often coincides with a decline in eyesight, it is easy to confuse it with your growing need for bifocals. Perhaps my experience will help you determine whether you need new glasses, or not.
While shopping, my daughter tried on a straight skirt. After asking my opinion, which she quickly discounted (don’t worry, I knew it was coming), she turned to the mirror. After hemming and hawing and twisting and pulling and mumbling, she finally turned around and with a toss of her head said, “No, it’s too out.”
Now, what does this mean to you? Quite frankly it meant nothing to me. Upon noticing the blank look in my eyes, my daughter clarified by saying, “It goes too out.” First of all, let me say, “Thank you for the extra word.” Second of all, I actually understood what she meant. She was talking about the angle of the fabric with respect to the bottom of the skirt. You know, “too out.” I believed her, of course. I just couldn’t see it, not with my glasses up or down.
Let’s understand what was going on here. My daughter had just calculated the mathematical “angle of depression” from the waist to the hem of the skirt. Based on her determination, she was able to discount this item as belonging to the category of “pencil skirt.” I was astounded. After all, we’re not talking about a child who loves math. But here, right in front of my eyes, I witnessed “changing room trigonometry.” Although she had just opened my eyes to a new level of her mathematical abilities, I still couldn’t see what she was talking about. That angle wasn’t the only thing experiencing depression.
I had begun to think these types of perceptual disorder were permanent. A recent encounter with my son and the color brown, however, made me realize that they can be reversed. Now, brown is a very neutral color. This is helpful when your child demonstrates an affinity for dirt, mud, and brownie batter. I came to terms a long time ago with the color brown being part of his “look,” regardless of the original color of his clothing or skin. In fact, brown had become a color to which we had become desensitized. We were immune, accepted it as part of the color theme of childhood and treated it as a welcome sign of a healthy child.
All was fine until about a week ago, when my son asked me why the cuffs of his sleeves weren’t white. First of all, I didn’t know he realized they should be white. Second of all, seriously? I mean, just two weeks prior, on Shabbos, he and his friends thought it was a riot to dip their hands into a puddle of mud and then slap each other on the back in order to make a handprint. On a positive note, my son’s shirt attested to the fact that he has a lot of friends, or in the unlikely event, that he just has one friend who is an octopus. On a negative note, I actually had to throw out the shirt. I was pleased, though, that the thought of white cuffs appealed to him, although this epiphany lasted only an hour. More importantly, I was thrilled that he could actually see the color brown.
Now, I have to say that, unfortunately, there are some senses, such as taste and smell, where mine are viewed as superior to everyone else’s in the household. This might lead you to believe that every other family member, including my husband, was born with some sort of sensory deficit. Please be advised: It’s all a setup.
I am referring to the fact that I have been unanimously, albeit semi-voluntarily, appointed the royal taster and smeller of our family. This started from being a conscientious mother and has escalated to the point of food poisoning. The foundation for this position was established when my children were infants. Here’s how the tasting thing starts: What does any mother do when feeding her eight-month-old? We taste the food to make sure that it’s not too hot or too cold, not too soft or too hard or, G-d forbid, spoiled. It makes perfect sense (at this stage of the game).
When it comes to the sense of smell, we do ourselves in right away. Quick - be brutally honest: Think of one method you’ve used to tell if your child needs a diaper change? Remember the swing-the-kid-upside-down-move-so–you-can-get-a-quick-whiff method? Yes, I ‘m talking to you. This was the moment you sealed your fate and became the pre-approved royal smeller.
As you navigated the early years of motherhood, your tasting and smelling instincts became automatic responses. After all, isn’t it our job to protect our children from anything yucky and smelly? Compound this with your daily level of exhaustion, and you find yourself continuing these behaviors well past the required age limit for your children (and husband). It’s only after years of smelling stinky clothing, tasting sour yogurt, and being offered the opportunity to be the first to taste the deli from last Shabbos that you realize this is not an honor. I, for one, am ready to abdicate.
The last sense I would like to discuss is hearing or, more specifically, a lack thereof. The term selective hearing is commonly used to describe the ability to ignore people who are screaming at you. I didn’t invent the term, but I do believe parents actually teach their children how to do this. By the time our children have honed this to perfection, we have selectively forgotten that we are the source of the knowledge. Once again, we have no one to blame but ourselves.
It starts with trying to get your baby to sleep. Not an easy task, if I do say so myself. But if I recall correctly, when your child is a little older, one part of this process involves not responding to your child immediately. It goes something like this: Child cries, parents argue about how long to wait, baby continues crying until argument is settled, and then the fastest parent runs in and rescues the child.
We think we are teaching the child something (I’ve never figured out what), when really we are teaching him that it is possible to ignore someone when he’s screaming his brains out for you. Although our children eventually learned the art of going to sleep (sort of), I am convinced that this experience of being blatantly ignored lies dormant in their subconscious. Eventually, this memory surfaces, and our children become experts at selective hearing. This can be documented in a simple experiment: Try calling your children back to the Shabbos table for dessert. I think we can all agree that, upon hearing this, some children will travel faster than the speed of light. On the other hand, try calling your children back to help clear the table. I rest my case.
Did you hear me? I said, “I rest my case.”
