Colour Blind and Proud

Growing up, we all thought it was my Dad who was dysfunctional.

Until we all got tested at school.

Three brothers, all colour blind. And our Mum.

The 23rd chromosome is to blame. Red-green colour blindness, or "colour-defective safe" which means we can see the red light and therefore stop at traffic lights. Of course, we've all disproved that theory a few times.

At school, I once drew a green sheep. That must be where green wool comes from.

I once wore a bright apricot jumper, thinking it was beige. For three months. And it wasn't even the 80s.

Lush grass always looks orange to me. Bright orange. With green sheep.

And purple is a myth. No such colour. And violet is just purple with affectations.

Ironically, I worked for years as a graphic designer. I specialised in slightly psychedelic web sites.

"What colour is this?" I'd ask my partner.

"Taupe," would come the reply.

I would Google "Taupe". Ah, grey with a hint of brown. So, which one is the brown?

Lavender, lime, cinnamon, wine, cedar, almond, fuchsia, slate, eggshell.

The list is endless - things I know as things, tastes, smells - not colours.

Camouflage doesn't work against me. I can always spot the snake/lizard/ cheetah/tiger/tank/owl/sniper/secret base.

I can never be a pilot, but I could work in aerial reconnaissance, protecting the world against rogue tigers and owls.

Friends would say. "I'd love to see through your eyes for a day."

I would reply, "the grass isn't always greener on the other side, you know."

Actually, it's often quite orange.