Colorblind

The human eye has been roughly estimated to be able to perceive, as well as distinguish, as many as ten million different colors.  Humans obtain color sensation when photo receptors in the eye receive light and respond to the brain according to which light sensitive cell (otherwise known as a cone) detects color.
According to studies, there are approximately 280 million color-deficient people around the world.

Of this population, 93% are made up of males.
The colorblind mutation is found in the X chromosome, of which men possess only one.  Females must have defects in both before she exhibits any kind of colorblindness or dysfunction, thus, it is much less likely she can acquire this trait.
One out of every twelve men suffers from this deficiency.

My dad is one among the theoretical twelve.

When I was seven, I would wonder about the colorblind proletariat, and decided conclusively that they must perceive this world as some old movie; black and white.
I'd wonder about him, too, and my thoughts, similar to this visional defect, welcomed no color or even an assumed "gray area."  My dad was like salt and pepper or a dice cube or the keys on a piano.  A solid combination of the two colorless shades.  Nothing more, nothing less.

I'm just a girl and my world is no Crayola sunset.  The Purple Mountains Majesty and Mister Golden Sun and Roses are Red were always fighting with the simple answers my mind would try to give when I never knew how to explain the uncertainties that life often accompanies.

I've sworn to myself and every doctor that I possess the same genetic trait as my father.
Colors are difficult for me.
I've fought many battles for the color blue when some absolute color person casually comes along and (clearly?) mistakes him for violet.  There's a fine line with all those yellows, too...

Don't get me wrong.  I can easily differentiate between stop, and go, and please slow down thank you, but when I'm given something truly perplexing like lavender-blue-dilly-dilly and some light cool slate, I cannot handle the minor discolorations or intricate features which so meticulously distinguish one aquamarine gray turquoise from an apparent neon cyan teal.  Don't concern me with your messy details, stick to the two monochrome shades that I best know and love.

My fascination with colors doesn't come to a screeching halt at the end of a rainbow; I could never give up my own pair of eyes for any amount of gold.  But for now my vision is still impaired and functionally desensitized to any shade outside of the primary spectrum.  Until subjectivity or even a personal connection prevails, he'll always be to me like the midnight sky, mostly black, and on a clear evening somewhere other than here, with little speckles of white unexpectedly strewn.  Unreachable and completely absent of any colorful sensation.