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These 2 Akron teachers saw a problem and had the vision to fix it

Optometrist Dr. Laura Knight provides a free examination for a student at Crouse Elementary School in Akron Public Schools
Optometrist Dr. Laura Knight provides a free eye exam for a student at Crouse Elementary School in Akron Public Schools.

Accurately diagnosing a problem is only the first step in solving it.

Last year, I wrote about the lack of an optical department at Akron Children’s Hospital’s Vision Center. Many of their patients, such as my daughter, Lyra, who has Down syndrome and was born with cataracts in both eyes, have unique conditions and facial features that require specialized glasses frames. Yes, the ophthalmologists and optometrists at ACH are top notch, but without ease of access to the glasses that would correct the accurately diagnosed problems, the care they provide is not truly comprehensive. After the column published, I was asked to meet with administrators at ACH and agreed. I also received an uncharitable letter from an ACH employee who works with the surgeons at the Vision Center. That letter helped me understand I had not effectively described the dire struggle most parents face when trying to find appropriate glasses for their children, so I wrote a follow-up piece. The hospital subsequently contacted me to cancel our meeting.

Many parents wrote to me and confirmed their struggles. I also heard from those who are boots on the ground in this matter — teachers of the visually impaired (TVI) in public schools. TVIs work with visually impaired students to determine what interventions, including equipment and font size, they may need. They help teachers understand a child’s vision needs and guide the children on using any adaptive tools such as closed-circuit televisions that enlarge text, Braille and more.

TVIs underscored the widespread problem of children with vision impairment who do not find glasses that fit properly, or who don’t have any glasses at all. Decades of research has continuously shown that children with uncorrected visual impairments do not do as well in school as they would with corrected vision. They fall behind and the gap grows wider each year their vision remains uncorrected.

One day last spring, I walked out of the classroom where I tutored at Crouse, an elementary in Akron Public Schools, and was surprised to find in the hallway two of my daughter’s TVIs along with Dr. Laura Knight, an optometrist at Midwest Eye Consultants. Melanie Sargent was my daughter’s TVI in APS’s Early Learning Program and her first years of elementary school. Then, when Lyra was in the second grade, Kate Mozingo took over and has remained with her since.

These two teamed up to find a solution to a pressing problem — getting glasses to students identified as needing them. Currently, APS elementary school nurses perform vision screenings on students in kindergarten and grades one, three and five. They send letters home with those students who fail the screening, encouraging the parents to get the child’s eyes examined.

Unfortunately, the poorer a school’s student population, the less likely it is that those who failed the screening will get an eye exam. Last year, students in Akron Schools who did not access optometric care were identified by school staff. Together, Sargent and Mozingo essentially piloted a program that could, and very much should, be replicated wherever the need exists.

They contacted Wendy Giambrone at the Ohio Optometric Association. Giambone runs the association’s iSee Ohio, a program that provides free school-based eye exams and glasses to children in need. She put them in contact with Dr. Knight, who voluntarily examined the identified Crouse students and was wonderful with them all. Crouse was chosen by Sargent and Mozingo because the building’s vision screenings had the highest failure rate last year.

Optometrist Dr. Laura Knight with some of the Akron Public Schools students who received free glasses. Knight volunteered to examine the childen and fit them for glasses.
Optometrist Dr. Laura Knight with some of the APS students who received free glasses.

A couple of weeks after I ran into the women in the hallway, they returned with glasses. I remember well what it was like to get my first pair of glasses in the fifth grade after I failed a school vision screening. I spent days looking at trees with and without my glasses, stunned at how articulated each leaf was when observed through corrective lenses. To be in a room with several students having the same experience was akin to Christmas morning after Santa had been particularly generous.

One fifth grader with a substantial correction had never owned a pair of glass. I spoke with him a few days after he received his first pair from Dr. Knight and he said more than the trees, he was shocked at the detail he could now see in the floors and ground. Imagine the improvement in his ability to see and read text.

Imagine also if the comprehensive care Sargent and Mozingo voluntarily managed to provide to a small group of students was replicated for all students and, yes, Vision Center patients, who need it. How might it literally change the trajectory of children’s lives? Motivated by the struggle they see firsthand, these two women chose to do something. Who else can help solve this problem?

This was first published in the Akron Beacon Journal on Sunday, August 31, 2025.

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Chance meeting in Europe turns into lifetime friendship

When a friend asked me to accompany her to Peru to hike the Inca Trail, I incorrectly envisioned something like the Great Wall of China – wide paths with few inclines. The Inca Trail hike is four grueling days of high altitude climbing in the Andes Mountains on 600-year-old stone stairs that are now catawampus. Everyone moves at their own slow pace. Alone, I put one foot in front of the other, eyes trained mostly on my feet and the path. When stopping to drink water, I’d look back at dramatic vistas, each time astonished by the distance my legs had carried me.

When studying in France in 1990, I had a two-week midterm break. I’d originally planned to go to Rome, but after months of being the tallest blonde around, I instead took a train to Amsterdam where I hoped to blend in. It worked –the locals often initiated conversations with me in Dutch.

 On my second evening in Holland, I walked into a small crowded jazz bar. A quartet, with an upright bass that took up more room than one of the handful of tables, was tearing it up. I asked a young man with a dark mullet and glasses if the empty chair at his table was available and immediately heard his Boston accent when he said sure. That’s how I met Mike Reardon.

He was traveling alone until friends of his who lived in another Dutch town returned from England. The next day we visited the Van Gogh Museum together where there was a large retrospective exhibit because it was the centenary of the artist’s death. That evening we hatched a plan. Mike and I would tour France’s Loire Valley together. I’d be his personal translator and he’d be my buffer from flirty Frenchmen.

The next week we rode bicycles rented at train stations to wineries and chateaux. Some, such as those in Blois and Chambord, are immaculately maintained, while others, like Chinon, where Joan of Arc met with King Charles VII to tell him of her visions, are in ruins. All that remains of the chateau built by Cardinal Richelieu (who was villainously portrayed in “The Three Musketeers”) is a stone foundation flush with the earth. Mike and I ate lunch nearby in a restaurant filled with truck drivers. It was the best meal of my life.

After we parted in Paris, Mike and I stayed in touch. As with all faraway friends in the 1990s, we wrote letters. Later, when I briefly lived in Boston, we’d get together. Soon after I left Boston, Mike moved to South Dakota where he lived for 20 years. A trained jazz guitarist, Mike’s a musician’s musician and played with a variety of groups across genres during his time in Rapid City. My first three sons and I stayed with him there while on a cross-country road trip in 2007. I next saw my friend in 2015 in Phoenix, where he’d moved in part to be closer to his mother. A few months ago, I noticed on Facebook that Mike was leisurely making his way across the country. He stayed a good while in South Dakota, making music with friends and planning an annual festival in honor of one beloved musician who recently died.

I got the full story when Mike arrived in Akron earlier this month. Seven years older than me, Mike was in his early 30s when we met in Europe. He’s now old enough to collect Social Security and decided to do so this year, which allowed him to pack up and travel north during Arizona’s hottest months, something he plans on doing every year.

What to do when your musician friend of more than three decades stops in for a long visit? Why make music, of course. Mike and I spent a morning practicing George Gershwin’s “Summertime” before recording it several times using equipment he managed to fit in his small car packed for 10 months of travel. And then we took our show on the road, by which I mean we performed at Akron Symphony Orchestra’s first Wednesday Broadway Karaoke Experience at Jilly’s.

“You know,” I whispered to Mike while he tuned his guitar on stage before we performed a jazzy rendition of the popular song from ‘Porgie and Bess,'” I’ve secretly always wanted to be a lounge singer.”

Mike’s recent visit was the most time we’d spent together since we traveled France. He’s still as pleasant and interesting to be around as he was then. We’re the same people, but the days since France now add up like steps crossed on the Inca Trail. Standing high on the mountainside of life, the tremendous number of years that have passed and the distances we’ve both traveled, were readily evident. It’s a breathtaking vista most days overlooked while simply living.

I figure if Mike comes back every year, in a decade we will have recorded enough songs for an album.

This was first published in the Akron Beacon Journal on Sunday, August 17, 2025.

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Camping trips more work, but value added

If the definition of insanity is expecting different results when repeating something, I have an annual madness. Each spring I long for the freedom my children and I will enjoy when school ends. Summer arrives like an empty cargo ship docking on shore after being distantly visible for many months. Yet almost immediately, shipping containers of places to go, people to see and things to do fill the entire boat. Stop the longshoremen! I want to yell.

Since late June, I have not been home for more than three consecutive days as I have visited friends and family in faraway places. In mid-July, two adult-sized children, one tiny dog, all our camping gear and I filled every available inch of space in my small car. Spare shoes went under the seats, while in the back seat my daughter leaned on bedding stacked into a tower taller than her. My son’s size-12 feet were trapped on the car floor, surrounded by my computer bag, snacks, his sword and an intimidatingly large Nerf blaster. 

I don’t consider myself a camping kind of person. I suppose that’s because, unlike my 28-year-old son, Hugo, I don’t spend months longing for the day I can load up the car, head to a camp ground and party like it’s 1899. And yet I’ve camped most years of my life. When I was a young child, my grandparents, Eagle Scout-level camping people, took me to parks near Chicago. They had all the gear, including canvas tents tall enough to stand in and wide enough to set up multiple cots. Later, after they’d retired to Arizona, they bought an Aristocrat mid-sized trailer camper. I cherish memories of comfortably camping with Grandma at remarkable state and national parks in the 1970s and ’80s, including multiple trips to the Grand Canyon and Lake Powell.

Holly Christensen's grandma cooks on a camp stove in the late 1960s.
Christensen’s grandma making dinner on a camp stove in the late 1960s.

Beginning in the ’90s, I took my children every summer for over 15 years to Karme Choling Buddhist Meditation Center in Vermont for a nine-day family camp. The mountainside behind the center’s large building is dotted with semi-permanent tents set upon wooden platforms. Two adults and three children could sleep comfortably inside the tents on thick foam pads provided by the center. Served in a large dining tent, all meals were prepared and served with the help of the adult attendees. For several years, I arose early each day and made many gallons of coffee.

Camping at Karme Choling was lot like living in a college dorm. The tents, beds and meals were provided. Mothers and small children showered and dressed together in community bathrooms. It wasn’t as cushy as staying in a camper or cabin, but neither were we roughing it.

My children have also grown up spending a portion of their summers with family in Charlevoix, Michigan, just 50 miles south of the Mackinac Bridge. From 2020 to 2023, my youngest two kids and I stayed in a camper set up in the driveway of family for five weeks each summer. The outdoor day camp on Lake Michigan that my children attended provided some semblance of normalcy during COVID. But with the death their grandfather last fall, we no longer have family in Charlevoix. 

Though our family is gone, the many things that make northern Michigan a summer delight remain, which gets us back to my packed-to-the-gills car. This year, we pitched camp at Young State Park. Tents have come a long way since the medieval-like structures my grandparents owned in the ’60s. My 15-year-old son, Leif, and I can set up our eight-person tent in less than 15 minutes. (Note: Unless the people sleeping in the tent are all 3 years old, divide the number a tent says it can sleep by two. A two-person tent sleeps but one adult, our eight-person tent is best for no more than four.) 

Holly Christensen's children and dog at their tent last month at Young State Park in Michigan
Leif and Lyra at Young State Park in Boyne City, MI, July 2025.

While Leif has a thin camping pad under his sleeping bag, my 12-year-old daughter, Lyra, and I sleep on an air mattress. After a day of packing, driving eight hours and setting up camp, it was almost 10 when we collapsed in our tent.

“Hold still,” Leif said suddenly and came to investigate something next to my head. I thought it was perhaps a mosquito, but it was much worse. A leak in the mattress. I patched it with what I had – two Bandaids. It was a chilly 48 degrees when Lyra and I awoke the next morning with only two layers of plastic under our sleeping bag as the mattress had deflated much earlier. All three of us giggled. 

Yes, camping takes me out of my comfort zone. Campground bathrooms are utilitarian community spaces usually a healthy trot away from the campsite. Keeping food fresh in a cooler is a messy, difficult preoccupation. Cooking on a fire pit or camp stove is doable, but again requires extra effort and then there’s the cleanup. Cleanliness standards are apt to slide.

And yet what trips are most memorable? The perfectly comfortable hotel room is easily forgettable. Some of the most amazing starry skies I’ve gazed up at have been on walks to camp bathrooms at 3 a.m. The drift to slumber in a tent, where children are all within arms’ reach, is often accompanied by soft chatter and laughter. Once home, that first shower, cooked meal and night on a firm mattress are savored unlike most. So those longshoremen loading adventures on the ships that are my summers? They are free to carry on.

This was first published in the Akron Beacon Journal on Sunday, August 3, 2025.