I sat across from my friend, Bruce, in 4th grade.
When Ms. Perrin raised the card that had on it
7 x 6, Bruce and I raised our hands at the same
time. But when we began reading the same book,
Bruce turned to the second page before I was half-
way down the first. That was the first time I became
conscious that something was wrong, but I didn't
know what. Every year I went for my eye exam,
and every year the doctor said to me, "Tell me
when the dot and the line meet." And ever
year I told him "The dot and the line are not
meeting." And every year, the doctor said nothing
back to me. I was basically a straight-A student
through school, but when my dad had me
apply to Andover, I had to take the PSAT.
I remember that every time I got to the read-
ing section, I could finish only about a third
of the questions. Even though I continued
to get straight-As, even though i was elected
president of my class of over 800, I got re-
jected twice in a row from Andover, because
of my unbelievably low scores on the reading
section of the PSAT. Each summer after being
rejected, my dad sent me to Andover for sum-
mer school that was academically as rigorous
as the regular school year. I realized during
those summers that It took me twice as long
to read a page, let alone a book, as it took my
classmates. But that's what i did:  I read twice
as long as my classmates because i had to, and
I did well academically because of my tenacity.
At the end of the second summer school, my
dad and I visited the Director of Admissions.
The first thing he said to me as we entered his
office was "Tod, you've already been admitted
to the Class of 1962. You don't even have to
apply." I was stunned. My dad was overjoyed.
I did well at Andover during the regular school
years. I chose to matriculate to Columbia be-
cause of its Core Curriculum and its being in
New York City. I excelled there, but I contin-
ued to have to read twice as long as my class-
mates. Nine years after I graduated from Co-
lumbia (I was 27 then), I sat in a booth at a
restaurant in Topeka across from Michelle,
a psychologist at the Menninger Foundation,
who was sharing with me details about the
workshop she had attended the prior weekend
in Tulsa. Michelle had been fascinated with
what she had learned at the workshop from
a renown ophthalmologist whose specialty
was monocular vision, The more Michelle
shared with me, the more I felt she was descri-
bing the condition I had battled from 4th grade
through college, so at an appropriate point,
I interrupted her and told my story. She sat
there transfixed as she listened to my long
and painful ordeal. When I had finished,
Michelle sat there in silence for more than
a few moments, then said to me, "Tod, you
need to call the doctor, make an appointment,
then drive down to Tulsa and have him exam-
ine you." And that's what I did. The doctor
examined me for three hours, putting me
through all sorts of tests. I remember to this
day verbatim the last thing he said to me:
"Tod, I'm surprised you can even read a
book, let alone get through college." Well,
I did get through Columbia,  let alone Andover
as well. But as I tried to assimilate what I had
just found out, I thought that eye doctor in Topeka
who ever year I told "The dot and the line are not
meeting." Why had he not not said to me:
"Tod, you have a problem." Why had he not
done his job? I had long forgotten his name,
but I shall never forget his gross negligence.
And to be honest, though I had managed to
endure the pain and stress of all those years,
I am so proud of what I overcame and ac-
complished.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks