VT Works

Some days in Vision Therapy, you walk into the room ready for anything: accommodative lags, Brock String mishaps, maybe even the occasional dramatic sigh from a teenager. And then there are the days when your smallest, sweetest 7-year old patient looks you right in the eyes, leans in, and whispers, “I might need to say the F-word.”

And by the way, Happy Wednesday.

I should pause here and tell you that for much of my childhood my mother would describe me as impish (inclined to do slightly naughty things for fun; mischievous), so moments like this tickle my funny bone without even trying. I have been that kid, and likely made a similar comment in my youth, probably at the exact wrong time and in the exact wrong place. So when I say I recognized the look, I mean I recognized the look.

Anyway, I froze. Not because I believed this child was actually about to drop a linguistic bomb, but because of the glee radiating from his little face. You know the look, I’m sure. Eyes wide. Shoulders rounding forward. The kind of mischievous intensity usually reserved for stealing a second cookie, sneaking a frog into the house, or pressing buttons explicitly labeled “Do Not Touch.” Frankly, if he had produced a tiny villain mustache and twirled it, I would not have been surprised.

I gave the classic therapist slow blink and giggled under my breath. “Oh? And which ‘F-word’ would that be?”

He grinned like he had just discovered the secret of the universe. “I’m not telling you. But I might need to say it later.” And then he casually returned to the activity like a seasoned negotiator retrieving his latte between power moves. I swear this kid has a future in the courtroom.

For the next twenty minutes, he performed some of the most coordinated, attentive, engaged therapy I’ve ever seen, all while dangling the alleged F-word threat like a carrot. Smooth pursuits? Flawless. Saccades? Crisp. Balance board? Olympic level. At one point I’m pretty sure he even levitated. Every few minutes he’d pause, tilt his head, and whisper dramatically, “I might say it now…” and then fall silent in a way that could rival Broadway’s finest. Standing behind him, I could barely breathe as I tried desperately to hold back my laughter. My professional composure was hanging on by a thread, and that thread was fraying – quickly.

I played along, because honestly? This was peak engagement. “Well,” I said, “if you feel the need to express yourself, please choose your words… carefully.” The suspense was real. Even the Marsden Ball was nervous, and if the Brock String had eyebrows, they would’ve been raised.

Finally, in the last minute of the session, this tiny human took a deep breath, looked at me with a seriousness I absolutely did not deserve, and declared with triumphant volume:

“Oh that was FANTASTIC!”

And then immediately fell into hysterics. I’m talking full-body laughter, nearly-falling-off-the-chair laughter, the kind of contagious giggles that make you question whether your job is Vision Therapy or professional emotional-support clown. I laughed so hard an outside observer may have questioned who was supervising whom.

As he left, still giggling, he turned back and said, “I told you I was gonna say it!”

And honestly? He wasn’t wrong. I was warned. Very clearly. I just wasn’t prepared for the plot twist.

It was the best F-word I’d heard all day.

Some days you teach vergence. Some days you refine accommodation. And some days, apparently, you get schooled in comedic timing by a seven-year-old who fully understands the power of dramatic buildup.

And that, my friends, is Vision Therapy in its purest (and funniest) form.

Cheers!