I Don’t Know What Color My Eyes Are: A Tragedy

Do you ever stop to think, “At what point in my life did I become aware of this?” Like, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t born knowing who Britney Spears is, but I can’t for the life of me pinpoint the time and place where I actually acquired that knowledge.

I do, however, know exactly when I learned about eye color–not only what mine was, but that eyes even had the capacity to be colorful. I was in preschool. The teacher was dismissing everyone for recess. To stagger the release of twenty-five hyper four-year-olds who’d been hitting the Mango Capri Sun pretty hard, she would usually say something like, “If you have blond hair, you can go outside,” and then, “If you have red hair, you can go outside,” and she’d make her way through the line. I guess it was inevitable that she’d eventually go for eye color.

And it’s not like I was shocked by this development. I didn’t think to myself, “Wait… eyes? Have color? What?” I simply accepted this, reached into the recesses of my four-year-old mind in search of that information for myself, and discovered it wasn’t there. I had no idea what to do. Everyone else knew theirs. I was the lone wolf. The logical thing would’ve been to pretend I knew and leave with a group at random, then check my eyes in the bathroom mirror. That’s what I should’ve done. What I did instead was hide under a table and cry so much they had to call my mom.


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