"No offense, but it's just a rat."

No offense, but it's just a dog.

Most people, even animal lovers, aren't "rat people." I get it. Really, I do. Bald tails and bulging eyes aren't exactly features that overwhelm most people with the urge to snuggle. Guess what? Neither is drool, bad breath and the insatiable craving to eat cat poop.

Frankly, I'm a cat person to the extreme. I just don't get dogs. They're messy. They're smelly. They're needy. They hump the neighbor's leg. I do not fear them. I will pet one (and enjoy it) if it doesn't try to assault me. I've even been known to become attached to them if they're living in my home. I treat them with respect as long as they acknowledge that I am the Alpha Bitch and they don't pee in my shoes.

What you will not see me do is denigrate a dog person's love and concern for his friend by saying, "It's just a dog." I think it sometimes, really I do, but frankly a buddy is a buddy, and we all tend to treat our pets like children, worry over them, shower them with love and presents--no matter how revolting that pet is to other people. If an earnest dog-mom tells me Junior is sick and must go to the vet, I never question whether her love-muffin is worthy of medical care. She loves him, he loves her, he trusts her to take care of him. That's what pet ownership is all about. Pets aren't possessions. They aren't disposable. They aren't accessories that go in and out of fashion and end up in the back of the closet. We don't own them. We partner them. We parent them.

Even if it's "just a rat."

So, how does a fanatical Cat Lady turn into a Rat Lady? Am I bi-polar? Do I have multiple personalities? Was I on drugs? Er... a tentative "no" to each. I'm pretty sure I was of sound mind and body when I made the decision. The roots go back, way back to prehistoric times--you know, my college days. My boyfriend at the time, bless him, worked at a pet shop and "saved" a sweet little mouse from being fed to an African toad. I think it was my birthday present. I wasn't absolutely thrilled (I already had a cat) but it was indeed the cutest little guy and I remembered a mouse I had as a girl (named Captain Midnight). I had no recourse but to fall in love with him. I named him Mike. Mike turned out to be a girl. Mike also never stopped growing.

Mike was a baby rat.

When I moved back in with my parents, my mother forbade me to bring Mike with me. The first of many clues that the average person not only doesn't "get" rats but the majority downright loathe them. They tolerate (to varying degrees) pet mice, gerbils, hamsters and guinea pigs (ugh) but believe the outrageous slander that rats "carry disease." (FYI, although rats can carry strep, they don't generally pass it to people unless bitten and not always then. Also FYI "cat scratch fever" is a real thing, and about as common as rat bite fever. Rats do not carry plague. Fleas carry plague. If your rat is healthy and you keep its cage clean, you aren't in any more danger of becoming sick than you are from your dog [which is much more likely, since he's exposed to parasites every day just by walking around outside, on or off a leash, that can infect you.]) Anyway, Mike lived another year or so with the boyfriend and died of a tumor, which ends that story.

Fast forward to 2012. My beloved 15 year-old cat died of heart disease after a lingering illness. I was devastated. I wanted another cat desperately but we have a full household and other things stopped me, too: what if I ended up with one like my mother's (named Mouse, go figure, and an unfriendly tyrant)? Once adopted, you're beholden. You are that pet's mother. Besides that, I was still reeling from my loss, still looking over my shoulder for him, still feeling the pain of my frantic attempts to save him, watching him waste away and then the horrifying decision that I had to let him go. I didn't want to risk getting attached. I needed a little something superficial to fill the void without the danger of falling in love. I needed a 2 a.m. pet, so to speak, something to cuddle with and shower with affection when I was feeling lost and down but with no commitment and no danger of heartbreak. I thought a rat would be perfect. At full growth, they're about the size of a six week-old kitten. They're furry and warm. And of course...

No offense, but it's just a rat. How could I get attached to a rat? A rat should be safe enough...

Did you know that rats "purr?" I didn't. Or rather, I didn't know that was what Mike was doing way back when. I knew nothing about caring for a rat in college. I was a kid and I winged it. Now, I'm an adult and of course I research everything to make sure I'm doing it right. So I stumbled upon an article about "bruxing." That's what rats do when they're happy: they grind their teeth together. It sounds (and feels) as if they're chewing on a seed but there's nothing in their mouths. When a rat is truly content, he bruxes, just like a truly content cat purrs.

They also hiccup.

The first time Squirrel hiccuped uncontrollably, it worried me. He was just a baby and I was convinced he was getting sick. But he only did it when I was petting him. Squirrel is by nature very shy, so then I wondered if it was caused by fear. Maybe he was really afraid of me? More research confirmed it was natural, and many rats hiccup when they're excited and happy. Well, then... Have you ever held a warm little baby fuzzball that loved you so much he hiccuped with excitement every time you pet him? Have you?

The technical term for a baby rat is a "kitten." I do not wonder why.

Rats will groom you. Like with cats, it's nurturing behavior, but without the raspy tongue. Tiedye is a groomer. He likes to lick. He also leans into my hand when I scratch his ears and cheeks, closes his eyes and "purrs." He enjoys petting so much that if I'm giving Squirrel attention and ignoring him, he'll waddle over and push right under my hand to get between us. "Enough, Mom.  It's my turn."

Tiedye is supposed to be my daughter's rat, but since I'm the one who cares for him, loves him daily, talks to him and worries over him, I call him mine. Considering that I discovered (too late!) that I'm highly allergic to rats, that makes my willingness to do all these things that much more important. I do my best to make sure they feel as loved, wanted and respected as any of our other pets, despite my handicap and despite the requirement that they live in a cage.

Tiedye is my lump. He's bread pudding, warm from the oven. Yes, I'm attached.

And now, Tiedye is sick. His hind legs won't support him, anymore. He can't get in and out of his litter box, which means more frequent cleanings (achoo... wheeze!) and trying to figure out a cage setup that will still give Squirrel room to roam without danger of Tiedye falling from a ladder. And he does. And it terrifies me. And he keeps going up the ladder, even if he has to drag his 2-pound-something body hand-over-hand with his front paws. I'm worried it's a result of exposure to an antibiotic that Squirrel is on (and needs, because he has a respiratory infection). I don't think he'll get better. I wake up each morning and check on them, just to make sure they're both still alive. What will I do if they aren't? What will I do if they are, and I have to make the decision once again to end the life humanely of an animal who loves me and trusts me and wants me to make it better? Mom is supposed to make it all better.

"No offense, but it's only a rat."

Whether or not you consider a rat to be an inferior pet because of their short lives or because you find them repulsive, there is no such thing as "only a" unless you, the pet's owner, feel that way about your own pet. I find dogs generally disgusting (er... once they're no longer puppies) yet I understand how you can love and cherish one. I happen to love a dog (but only one), yet I still feel a certain restraint with him. I would not choose to own a dog if it was only for myself. Yet, I understand the reasoning behind choosing a dog and accept it.

Please, do not deride my ability to love and feel attachment for my pet, or to feel the urge to heal him when he's sick, or reassure him when he's lonely or feeling down. That's what you're really saying, when you suggest that rats are unworthy. You're telling me I love the wrong thing, or my love is unworthy. My love is wrong. There's something wrong with me. I should stop treating them as if they're worth caring about. I must be emotionally disturbed and I need professional help if this keeps up.

Loving the ratboys was unexpected, but it's not unreasonable.

It's time for an attitude check. It's time for you to ask yourself why it's so hard for you to imagine a person loving a pet, any living thing, and wanting to treat it as a pet--with dignity, caring, affection and respect.

It is not my attitude that needs adjustment.

Easy, Breezy, Beautiful...

I was thirteen, the first time I met anyone who bleached her hair. Looking back, I'm sure half the female student body in the high school were on the bottle, but for all I knew they were natural blondes. Hey, I was thirteen...

Her name was... Georgia? Georgeanne? Either seems right, and that in and of itself made her interesting. I'd never met a woman named "George" anything. She was my aunt's friend, so of course I anticipated someone old, wrinkly and completely uncool (as if I was cool, as if cool mattered, but I was thirteen). Maybe I mixed her up with Georgia O'Keefe. I couldn't have been more wrong.

In fact, she was surprisingly young and pretty, with just the right amount of curve-age that screams, "date me!" but which Vogue tells us is unfashionably frumpy. Vogue knows nothing about women. I thought she was gorgeous. She was also running late. When we arrived, she was still dying her hair. I thought nothing of it. I'd seen lots of women dye their hair. My mother dyed her hair.

We sat and chatted to the percussion of the egg timer. Well... they chatted while I smiled and nodded and investigated what was equally intriguing about my aunt's young friend: the single woman's house, another first for me. Not divorced, nor some sad remnant, unloved, unpicked and unwanted on the "A" team, just single and seemingly cheerfully so. How could a woman be 30... something... pretty, single, and satisfied?

Her home was a curiosity to me, perhaps because I thought I might find some clue to her insanity therein-- some depressing collage, a photographical record of lost loves, maybe, or an alarming number of cats. If so, I was disappointed. Her home was... a home. It reflected her. It was neither just a place to sleep, nor was it a depraved kaleidoscope of desperation and girliness that subscribed to the single woman's unwritten code of vengeance against the masculine inability to approve her. She filled her home with things she liked and made no apologies. Just puttering around her house discretely set off what was probably (to my parents, at least) a disappointing train of thought. A woman could be unmarried, childless, self-sufficient and happy. She didn't need a man to form a personality. Outrageous.

I so wanted to be her.

The egg timer dinged. My new hero, George, disappeared into the bath to wash her hair, and I contented myself with more exploring while we waited and the hair dryer drowned out any conversation. When she reemerged, I was stunned.

"How do you get that color?" I blurted out.

"The ends have been bleached lots of times. That's how they get so light," she explained. "I can't ever get the roots the first time." She said it as if it were some fundamental failing of id or ego. Something Freud would have a field day with, or maybe just an appalled hairdresser.

Actually, I'd never even heard of bleach, but that's not what I wanted to know. "Not the ends, the roots.  How do you get them so pretty?"

I confused her. "I just... I don't know. It's the bleach."

How could I explain? She wanted white, but the virgin hair was like sunbeams. They sparkled like spun gold. Rumplestiltskin would have collapsed in paroxysms of joy at the sight. I'd never seen anything lovelier than lovely George's dirty old roots...

I guess I've always been perverse. While other women buy dyes that claim to reduce brassiness, I slather it on, always hoping for those dancing sunbeams. My "brass" ring, prettier than any color God intended. And when I wash away those virgin roots... I think of George, and I stand up just a little straighter, unafraid to just be me...

It's a Black Fly in my Cabernet... (Isn't it Ironic?)

For those Alanis fans out there (and I'm one of them) no, it still isn't ironic.  What is "irony" then?

Well, there's verbal irony: saying one thing and meaning the opposite.  For instance, your boyfriend belches during a kiss and you tell him wryly, "Well, that's attractive.  I can't resist ripping my clothes off and taking you, right here, right now.  Do it again!"

Then there's literary irony: attempting to avoid an outcome actually creates the catalyst that accomplishes it.  Everyone remembers Oedipus.  Yup.

Then there's cabernet sauvignon.

Yes.  Red wine.  Nobody likes it.  Why?  Because most people think wine should taste like Asti Spumanti, Mogan David (an excellent manischewitz and a lovely cordial), or Boone's Farm.  Ah!  The squirrels are lighting up, now, remembering college parties and romantic dinners...

Cabernet is an acquired taste.  It's not sweet.  It's not fruity.  It's not light.  It doesn't roll over the tongue and cover its tracks: it sinks in deep, and reminds you that you still have a whole glass waiting to savor. It hugs you tight and marks its territory.  It's not a cheap date: it's the one you want to take home to mother, even if she'll be scandalized.  It sticks around and doesn't let you go home with anyone else.

So what in the world could be "ironic" about cabernet, you ask?

Cabernet is an acquired taste.  It's something you grow into after trying everything else: like a gateway drug, especially for women.  We start with whites, because we want to look "classy."  Then we move on to "rosé" because it's romantic.  (What's not romantic about pink, eh girls?)  And then (if we're very lucky) we meet the kind of guy who knows wine and he talks us into trying a red.  Lucky, because this guy is always a keeper.  Men who know about wine either have money or will have money.  They come from an educated family and if they're not already firmly in the upper-middle-class bracket, they will be soon.  If they're also sweet, kind, funny and sexy, all the better!

"What do you mean, you don't like red wine?  Here, I'll order for you.  Trust me."

And they start you out with a chianti or maybe a shiraz.  It's a little more "bold" than you're accustomed to, but you don't want to look like a hillbilly, so you drink it.  You feel fluttery and nervous, maybe a little awkward.  The Red Wine Virgin.  Next time you're at that Italian restaurant, you order it for yourself (because you're a classy chick, and adventurous).  And then you buy a bottle for yourself-- or else he buys it and keeps it at his place for when you hang out together...

The more you drink, the more you notice those undertones of "currant" or "blackberry."  Plum?  Oh, yes!  But not the flesh, the skin, the tannins, the loooooooverly tannins.  That's what makes red wine nice.  That's what hooks you...

And then he runs out of chianti and you have to drink his merlot.  It's not bad.  A little startling.  Instead of just holding your hand, it propositions you and asks for your phone number.  But merlot is without substance.  Wishy-washy.  It's neither bold nor smooth; neither fruity nor oaky.  A little bit harsh and startling.  It has no manners at all, but it makes you giggle.  It's the 3 a.m. boy: it will always be there when the bar closes and you're in the mood, and it looks good at a dinner party, but it'll never stick around.  The rebound wine.  You lost your favorite, and you don't want to be alone, but it's good enough for now.

And suddenly you realize you can't drink white wine anymore.  It gives you a headache.  It bores you.  You have to have the "good stuff."  And you're at a party and all they have is cab, or at a wine tasting and they don't have merlot-- and you taste the cab side-by-side with chianti and you realize...

Remember the first time you tasted dark chocolate?  You were probably a kid.  You spit it out, right?  Disgusting!  Chocolate is supposed to be sweet!  And then you grew up, and one day you were desperate (probably hormonal) and there wasn't anything else...

That feeling.  It's not a flavor: it's... it's... complete abandon.  Lust.  Smokey, oaky, bitter, bold... like a drug, you melt and say, "Ahhhh... yes, that's the stuff."  A pound of milk chocolate barely satisfied, but one bite of the dark sends you to bed relaxed with sweet dreams...

That's cabernet.  Do not drink cab if you want fluff, fruit, sweet, mild, fluid, energizing, upbeat, childish trick-or-treat innocence.  Drink it if you want wet dreams.  Drink it if you mean it.  Savor it.  It is like chocolate, and the best cab has undertones of cocoa, but it's not the chocolate your grammy gave you, folks.  It will take you over.  It will mean it.  It's all grown up and it knows where the G-spot is.  If you don't want to take it home with you, don't even pour a glass: you'll hate it.  Chianti and merlot drinkers beware: it will have your panties off in a heartbeat.  If you're a prude, then pour it into a potted plant and pretend.

No, I don't mean it literally.  I've moved from irony to metaphor.  You're still waiting for the irony, aren't you?

It is this.  Do. Not. Fuck. With. My. Cab.  Like any two-bit, toothless, big-haired hillbilly girl outside a bar after last call, I WILL scratch your eyes out if you mess with my man.  He's mine.  You can't appreciate him.  Go back to chianti and leave cab alone.

And there's the irony.  He's gone.  I've only just learned to appreciate a cabernet, and vintners have decided to play the field.  Blend a cabernet with a sangiovese?  Are you mad?!?  That's like Elvis Presley's daughter marrying Michael J-- oh, wait.  That actually happened...

Here is my heartfelt plea, folks.  If ever you have a chance to taste one of these bastard hybrids (sorry, Michael, the metaphor is over, I really, really don't mean you and Lisa Marie!) do not consider it a cabernet.  Do not say, "I never really liked cabs but this is great!  Barely any tannins, no oaky flavor, wow, it's even fruity!"  Herein lies the trap...

Keep buying chianti, dear.  Why did you even try the cab?  You knew before you picked it up that you weren't woman enough for it... it would lick you all over and leave you asking for your mommy.  What you just drank isn't a real cab.  It's a boring gentleman.  Cabernet is a Bad Boy.  What you have in your hand is a wine pretending to be the Wild Thing when really it's thinking about its returns on the stock exchange.  It doesn't ride a Harley.  It rides a Moped.  It's just pretending to be a member of the band because it wants to get into your pants.

Cabernet is smokey.  It's oaky.  It's bold.  It's got tobacco on it's tongue, or cocoa.  Not plum jam.  It doesn't go well with a PBJ.  (Oh, wait, yes it does.  Cab goes well with everything if you want it to.)  Stop encouraging the wannabes.  Stop playing around with my "man."

Go back to your chianti and your trailer, beeoooootch.

And there is the irony.  By listening to the folks who say, "I don't like cabernet," and messing around with the blend, cabernet is palatable for those without a palate for it, now.  But those who truly appreciated it for what it was?  *sigh*

I want my cabernet back.  I miss it.  I guess my only option is to down a bag of semi-sweet morsels and sleep it off...

Don't get me started on the irony of putting corn syrup in vanilla.

"A" is for "Apple." Apples are Red.

My son is colorblind (deuteranopic).  I am not.  The past two years as I've identified his handicap and helped him to cope with it has been an odyssey in understanding for me (sometimes worth a giggle).  But after much research, I've come to the realization... as a trichromatic, I can see what he sees, but there is no tool, no image, no amount of teaching that can show him what I see.  The understanding is purely one-sided.  That makes me sad.

I first diagnosed my son myself, at the end of first grade.  Mini-me is/was an amazing artist, even then, and rightfully proud of his ability.  One day, he showed me a picture and beamed, "It is an exact portrait of my stuffed lion."

"An exact portrait?" I asked, just to be sure.  "But it's green."

"My lion is green."

"Is it?"

He showed me.  His stuffed lion was... well, lion-tan.  You know the color, if you're not colorblind.  Yet he insisted that they were exactly the same.  Other than color, they were.  It was a fabulous likeness, for a six-year-old to have drawn.

That was my first trip to the crayon box, and our first quiz.  It turned out, my little man was told repeatedly that a color he sees as tan was called "green."  When coloring grass, he checked the label on the crayon, since he was always told grass was green (the first time I became aware that colorblinds will "cheat" in order to pass as "normal").  But nobody ever told him a lion was tan.  Thus, when choosing "lion colored" he chose the closest crayon to his vision-- what everyone told him was green.  Tan.  Green.

Poor little tyke, I thought.  Must be tough.  But he could already read, which I assumed meant he could make allowances for his disability.  So he can't see green?  He knows what's supposed to be green.  It only affects his art, I thought, and it only affects him when he can't read (or understand) the name on the crayon label.  I still giggle when I remember how his little fist would shoot up into the air and he would shout across the room, "MOMMY!  WHAT COLOR IS THIS?!?"  Of course it was aqua, forest, turquoise, or some other nonsensical word that incorporated "green" as an actual element.  Sometimes it would be a shade of yellow, brown or gold-- colors I realize now that he sees instead of green.  "Green" is just a word to him, but he recognizes it means a lot more to us trichromatics.

During the summer between first and second grades, an eye doctor confirmed my "diagnosis" and told me, "He has a colorblindness of some sort, in some degree, and yes, red-green blindness is the most common."  He was less than helpful, except to confirm my suspicions.  Armed with an "official" diagnosis, I mentioned it to his second grade teacher who assured me that "color recognition just isn't an issue beyond kindergarten or first grade."

Oh, the hubris of the trichromatic...

By the end of first grade and the standardized testing, Mini-me's teacher had forgotten our discussion.  It's not really her fault: testing from the previous year didn't emphasize or use colors as tools as much.  The new curriculum is trichromacy-biased.  "I wish you'd told me," she lamented.  I did, I did, I did taw a puddytat...

Never mind.  So Mini-me wasn't invited to speak at Harvard as a seven-year-old.  We're both over that. But in light of the changes in education and testing, I took it upon myself to research his condition... and I'm no longer giggling.  At the end of the below "dissertation" I've written for his third grade teacher, you'll find some links.  Look for yourself.  I can't even imagine seeing the world as he sees it: as a mixture of vomit and a little blue ink.  Yeach.  But there are different levels of dichromacy (some are just a deficiency while others are a complete lack).  I've challenged my little artist to color the world for me.  I've asked him to draw a picture of something we can both see with our own eyes (for instance, my garden in the back yard) without looking at the names on the crayons.  I've asked him to simply choose his colors based on what he sees and not on what he's been told.  With this exercise, I hope to have a more complete understanding of the degree of his colorblindness.  Maybe it isn't as bad as I think.  I'll include these portraits as I receive them.

But for my part... Here is the research paper I've compiled and plan to give to Mini-me's teacher, hoping to raise her awareness (and yes, all of us prideful trichromoptics).

"A" is for "Apple."  Apples Are Red.

(Teaching and the Colorblind Child.)

Overview.

Most people are unaware of color blindness' impact on a child's education.  In the U.S. (and most countries), it isn't considered a special need or disability.

The sad truth is that the colors used extensively to make learning and testing easier for a "normal" child will actually handicap a colorblind child.  Attempting to use colors as tools will make him seem less proficient than his actual abilities, in addition to frustrating and possibly ostracizing him.

Color is such a natural part of human development that we don't even realize how extensively we use it and rely on it in our lives.  It isn't simply a case of making certain a colorblind person doesn't mismatch his socks.  Color vision deficit is a handicap not only in education but in some professions and it is of utmost importance that teachers recognize how and why even especially intelligent colorblind children may not excel in a typical classroom environment without some minor assistance.

What is color blindness?

"Normal" vision is trichromatic.  The majority of human beings perceive three primary colors: red, yellow and blue.  The human eye can differentiate shades such as oranges, greens and purples because we receive the full light spectrum.

True color blindness may be considered monochromacy (achromatopsia, seeing no colors at all, only shades of grey).  This condition is very rare.

The typical case of "colorblindness" is actually dichromacy.  The dichromatic eye sees only two primary colors.  The ability to see color is a function of the three different types of "cones" in the eye, and not a matter of the brain's ability to decipher incoming information.  The dichromatic eye lacks (or in mild cases has a limited number of) one type of cone associated with the "missing" color.  The colorblind is not retarded or lazy.  No amount of "practice" will change his vision.

Because most colors aren't actually primary, but instead incorporate shades of all three, this spectrum deficit removes an important element in how our world looks to the dichromatic.  Color range is severely limited and different shades are changed drastically.

This missing color isn't invisible to a colorblind person, although it may seem so if the color is printed on a background that also incorporates the spectrum he cannot see or the color he mistakes it for.  For instance, yellow chalk used on a green chalkboard is invisible ink to the colorblind child, who most often sees green as tan or yellow in his reduced spectrum.  A colorblind person does actually see a color where there is color in most cases and not just grey.  Some instances where he might see grey, however, are "washed out" or pastel colors.

Eight percent of the male population and .5 percent of the female population in Westernized countries are dichromatic to some degree.  It's more common than you think.

Some people diagnosed with color blindness can (with effort) differentiate because the levels of deficiency range from mild to severe, but no matter the range, colorblind people still do not perceive these colors in the same way as a person with "normal" vision sees them.

Types of Dichromatic Color Blindness.

There are three main types of common color blindness: deuteranopia, protanopia and tritanopia.

·          Deuteranopia (green deficiency) and protanopia (red deficiency).  Because the range of colors perceived (and confused) by these two conditions is so very similar, both are lumped into the category "red/green colorblindness" which is the most common form. 

           

Imagine a world where some mad artist reduced everything you see with   an old-fashioned sepia filter.  Remember the old tin-types?  They tried to add a bit of color after the fact, but it was all faded and dirtied with    mustard yellow.  This is what the red/green-colorblind sees day-to-day.            He can see blue (though "off" colors of blue may have a brown or greyish      hue) and the rest is a nasty smear of brown and yellow.  You even look    yellow to a deuteranopic.  While it might be fun as an artistic filter in your          scrapbook, it's a serious downer when somebody asks you to color        Maryland green on a map when your red, green and yellow crayons look brown, gold and yellow.

·          Tritanopia (blue deficiency).  In this case, yellow (depending on the darkness) may be seen as pink, and green will be seen as yellow.  Red, green, yellow crayons may be distinguished as red/pink/grey.

In all colorblindness, pastel colors may appear as grey and are more difficult to differentiate.

Why it's often difficult to identify colorblind people.

Early in life, colorblind children recognize that they are different.  There is something wrong with them.  They cannot see what other people see.  Color vision deficiency isn't a mental deficiency.  Often, these children are incredibly smart.  Rather than admit they don't understand, they adapt to their handicap by the time they learn to read.

·      Labeling.  Labels are the number one crutch for colorblind children attempting to pass as "normal."  When asked to identify a colored crayon, they will read the label.  In the reverse, labeling is also the most important tool a teacher can give to a student asked to complete assignments requiring color-coding (for instance, coloring states on a map, or using red and green to identify groupings).  Kids teach themselves to check labels.  Teachers can assist colorblind students by making certain they can choose the expected colors to complete the assignment by labeling any colored tool or diagram with the appropriate color word.

·      Association.  When we teach our "normal" kids to identify colors, what do we do?  We tell them, "Grass is green.  Apples are red."  The same goes for color selection in art.  Colorblind children can't necessarily see the differences in colors for themselves, but they listen, they associate, and when they color their grass, they look for the crayon labeled "green."

·      Denial.  Colorblind kids know there's something different about how they see colors, but they will often hide it.  They recognize their deficit by inference but since they don't know what "normal" is (never having seen the normal range) they just cope and don't draw attention to their confusion.  Since there aren't many lessons in color association past kindergarten, a teacher will not be aware of any problem.  There are problems and he may do poorly on an assignment from time to time, but many times poor performance may be written off by teacher and student as poor understanding of the lesson.  This is the danger, however: if he assumes his answer was wrong rather than color perception, he may get the answer wrong on future assignments that don't use color, just because he doesn't realize he had it right all along.  He second-guesses his understanding.

Why is it important for a teacher to understand color blindness?

Color-coding plays a key role in education, especially before grade two, but it continues even in upper level courses.   Often, color-recognition is an important (but unrecognized) tool in standardized testing and with recent changes to curriculum, it plays an even more vital role.  It's easy to forget that some children will be handicapped during these lessons and testing, because the color is as plain as the nose on our faces... noses that (to them) are yellow and not apricot, brown or rosy.  Otherwise brilliant children will score poorly when handed "tools" that all look the same and asked to use them appropriately.  They see their classmates using these tools easily, and if they can't find alternatives they become easily frustrated or just muddle through with substandard results.  They often won't tell the teacher what's wrong.  They're too used to ignoring the problem because their problem is ignored by others as insignificant.

Color blindness is not insignificant and when color is involved in any way with a lesson or activity, a colorblind child can not perform on the same level as a trichromatic child without help.  It is physically impossible, no matter how self-sufficient, smart and proficient at hiding his disability the colorblind child might be.

What can teachers do to help?

It only takes discipline in the "mindset" to make yourself aware of colors, no matter how trivial the use seems to you.  Awareness and one extra minute of teacher preparedness can make a world of difference to a colorblind child's education.

·      Where written words are involved, either use black ink, or photocopy a colored lesson in black and white for the colorblind child so he can differentiate shades and eliminate color confusion.  (This will also help you as the teacher to identify what might confuse him by showing you the similarity of darkness/lightness in the lesson.)

·      Avoid green and red when possible.  Never use yellow on green.  Never alternate yellow and green for highlighting different aspects in a single lesson.  Likewise red and brown or green and brown.

·      Visually scan for keywords in texts or on worksheets before lessons, to make certain they are highlighted with bold, underline or italics: words emphasized with color may not register as important to the colorblind child, and this is the purpose of highlighting keywords.  If the text uses color, take a few moments during verbal discussion to stress them, or point them out independently to the colorblind child after the lesson is done but before the assignment is due.  Allow him to underline/circle in his text or on his assignment so he doesn't miss colored keywords.

·      Make sure if the colorblind child is asked to use colors to identify concepts (for instance, using red to associate fact families, or green to identify a continent) that the child remembers to check a label on his color (and that labels are present) before completing the assignment.

·      On testing, label the colors on example problems if it requires color.  A smart colorblind child can distinguish between darkness of shades, even if the colors look the same to him.  The inability to distinguish isn't an indication of intelligence, however.  The degree of colorblindness can still present a handicap.

·      Label the colors on diagrams and separate with bold, black lines.  Bar graphs and pie charts, especially, use color.  If the lines between the colors on a pie chart don't boldly separate the colored slices, two colors side-by-side can look like one, large slice to the colorblind child. 

·      Never consider this "cheating" or telling him the answer.  Don't tell him the answer, but do recognize that without your help he just can't perform what's expected of him, any more than you could complete an assignment where the directions ask you to color nouns yellow and you're given three crayons: mustard, gold and daffodil.  How can you get the right answer when they're all shades of yellow?  To make certain he knows which color is which before completing the assignment is not giving him the answer to the actual problems.

·      If color-coding is used for navigation (for instance, color-coded hallways or lines on the floor leading to "specials" classrooms, nurse's office and cafeteria) make certain green and yellow lines do not intersect and that there is a clear difference in the darkness between red and green lines.  Including numbering or lettering systems along with the colors will assist colorblind students.

·      Many teachers color-code their classroom activity zones.  Including the actual names or adding numbers to the zones (or, of course, labeling with the color name) will help colorblind students to settle in sooner.

·      Remember, a colorblind child might even misidentify colors he can actually see, because he's used to second-guessing his world.  Because he sees green and tan as the same color, he may pick up the green crayon to color skin or the tan crayon to color grass.  He sees tan, regardless.  It is easy to trick a colorblind child because if you pick up the tan crayon and ask him what color it is, he assumes it is one he can't see.  He will automatically call it "green" not because he sees green, but because it is the color-name he comes to associate with tan.

References and support sites:

Color Vision Testing

Colour Blind Awareness (the below comparisons were taken from this site and can be viewed in their original, there).

Trichromatic (normal) vision

The same image, with deuteranopic (green colorblind) vision

The trichromatic ("normal") world.

The dichromatic (colorblind) world.

My own examples

Original