In Kindergarten when my husband colored his Santa green, his teacher promptly moved him to the remedial reading group. He couldn’t understand it—after all, he was a smart kid. It wasn’t until he turned 15 and took his driver’s license test that he learned he was color blind.
Being the entrepreneurial sort as a young man, my husband began a house painting business. He named his company “Jacob’s Ladder,” hired various friends over the summer, and did very well for himself. Usually his color blindness did not create any problems.
One day a client asked him for advice about the trim color. This man happened to be the father of a girl my husband wanted to impress (story pre-dates our relationship, just in case you’re wondering). Wanting to maintain the utmost professionalism, my husband called over a crew member, “Hey, Joel, think you can help us out for a minute?”
Joel sauntered over but shook his head when consulted, “Sorry, I’m no help here. I’m color blind.”
“Seriously?” Eyebrows went up and consternation set in.
“Dennis,” my husband waved over his other crew member. “Come over here.” But Dennis had overheard the whole conversation. “Me too,” he confessed. “Can’t tell reds and greens apart.”
“No kidding?” The things you find out at the most inopportune times!
My husband grinned sheepishly at his client, “You’re probably not going to believe this . . . ”