“When We Were Little” Wednesday

When I was little – in the third grade – my parents received a phone call from one of my teachers, Mrs. Brosier. (I can’t believe I remember her name. She wasn’t my teacher for very long.) Mrs. Brosier told my parents that she thought I might need to have my eyes tested, because although I would always listen in class and knew the answers to questions when asked, I would rarely look at her or the slides or the blackboard or whatever she was using to teach us. She figured, through her teacherly experience and wisdom, that I probably couldn’t see the front of the class. She had moved my seat, and that wasn’t enough; the next logical step was to send me to an eye doctor.

Sure enough – after one visit with Dr. Moomey (and I remember his name?! I’m on a roll!), it was clear that I needed glasses. My eyes weren’t awful, but they were bad enough that a little bit of correction was in order.

So I got glasses.

And I hated them.

I was embarrassed, for one thing. None of my friends had glasses, and I didn’t want to be “the only one.” For another thing, there was always that initial revealing of something new. You know what I’m talking about – it’s the first time people see your new haircut or glasses or whatever, and there’s a big reaction. To a self-conscious third grader, any sort of big reaction was to be avoided. With this in mind, I did the most logical thing I could think of. I took Dr. Moomey’s instructions to heart. He had told me that I needed the glasses only when I was looking at something at a greater distance than I could reach; therefore, I decided I would only wear the dread plastic frames when I absolutely needed to. While this seemed to be a pretty good solution, it started causing problems when I would forget my glasses at school. I remember one particular instance of forgetting my glasses on “Wonder Years” night, and I was devastated. “The Wonder Years” was the only show my family watched together on a regular basis, and I just knew that because I had forgotten my glasses I wouldn’t be able to take part in our weekly ritual. Mom consoled me, though, and told me I could just sit a little bit closer that night.

In any case, I eventually decided that it would just be easier to wear my glasses every day. The first day I wore them to school, I remember getting the very reaction I feared. As soon as I stepped off the bus, Delia (I remember her name, too!) ran up to me, called everyone over, and they all raved at how “cute” I looked. It was a positive reaction, yes, but attention was called to me nonetheless. (And now, looking back, I think all of them probably needed glasses, too, because no – it wasn’t cute. You’ll see what I mean in a minute.)

I also remember the first time I actually wore the glasses, out of the store in the mall. I was in awe of the clarity of the world. Until that moment, I had not been completely convinced that I needed glasses; I thought that the way I saw things was the way everyone saw them. I didn’t know that blurry wasn’t normal.

I was at Mom’s house the other day, helping her clean out some old stuff, when we found them. The glasses, in all of their clear plastic glory:

I knew then and there that I would be writing about them this week. And, because I know you’re all itching with curiosity, I dug out a picture of me in the glasses. I can’t believe I’m putting this on the internet. Prepare yourselves for beauty, people.

Oy. Oy, oy, oy.