The Man with Two Eyes (part one)

We all have our shortcomings. Mine used to be these two things sitting on either side of my nose. I like to call them, my eyes. Dec 1964 - Eleven years old.

I’m sitting at the breakfast table, eating my nicely saturated bowl of Frosted Flakes cereal. I can hear the clattering the dishes and utensils from behind me as my mother washes the dishes.

I find myself staring at Tony the Tiger, who’s sitting on the table about five feet away from me. He’s smiling at me a bit too happily, I thought. I watch him, and then I glance at the buffet cabinet, holding all its fine souvenir glassware, which is about fifteen feet away. Tony was looking okay but I couldn’t make out the lettering on some the glassware in the distance. All this reminded me of school and I finally had to mention it to my mother. “Hey, Ma” I said. “When I’m in school, it’s hard for me to see certain things on the blackboard.” My mother turned off the water and walked over to me. She still had a drippy plate in her hand and an already soaked dish towel. Stopping her from doing her work, suddenly made me feel like I had said something important. 

“Do you mean from where you sit in the back of the class” she said. 

“Yeah. I kind of have to squint to see the writing on the board” I responded.

Where she came to stand next to me, the overhead light was partially blocked by her head. As I looked up at her, there was a glow around her that seemed very saintly to me. I know I’m exaggerating but this particular day, she did have the answer that would save me. “This afternoon when you come home, we’re going to go get your eyes checked. You probably need glasses” she said. I didn’t like the sound of this. She and my father both wore glasses but my brother didn’t. He was older so why was I having problems and not him. Anyhow, I figured it was like going the doctor. If you’re sick, he’ll give you something to make you better. After school, she and I walked up to 116th Street where the Optician’s office was. After all the amazing gadgets and tests were done with, I was told that I had Myopia (what?). In other words, I was nearsighted. The further away objects were from me, the harder it was for me to focus on them. In a day or two, we returned to the shop to pick up my first pair of glasses.

As I sat in the shaky highchair and looked at myself in the undersized round mirror, I had only one thought. Could they have made these black plastic frames any uglier? I hated the way this thing on my nose looked and I felt immediately self conscious. Life was difficult enough on my poor ego but to have to now wear glasses made me depressed. That I would have to adapt while playing sports with them was bad enough but the feeling that it added nothing positive to my poor face was the real bummer. In my sadness, I glanced around the store to see if anyone was watching me.

To my shock, all the signs around me, the people in the waiting room and even the optician, were now all crystal clear. How could I not be happy? My love for TV, movies and the world around me had been brought back into focus. I finally rationalized that it wouldn't be so bad if I had to get around without this odd and remarkable appliance most of the time. Maybe I’d eventually become happier wearing the glasses, than not wearing them. It was going to be great to see the writing on the blackboard again. I really didn’t want to miss clearly seeing important events so maybe this thing being part of my face now was a good thing. At least some of the time, anyway. At the age of eleven, I was quickly learning what the word compromise truly meant.

Across the next decade, I went through what I call The Dork Ages. As the years rolled on, I was able to get fancier looking glasses, which made me feel better about my appearance. Unfortunately, there was now a sad new truth. With each yearly eye exam came the understanding that my vision was getting weaker. In the beginning, I could squeeze my eyelids together and hope to make a difference with how I viewed the world but by the time I was twenty-one, my need for optical assistance was constant. I could hold my hand straight out in front of me but then I’d have to bring it closer an inch or two, to bring it into focus.

The other truth was that the worst the vision, the thicker the lens. I would have pictures taken of me without my glasses and not know what the photographer looked like. There was no getting away from the truth. I could have the biggest ego in the world but my presentation would make me take a step back. That was, until my next discovery. A new product called hard contact lenses.

To be continued……. 

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