I can’t recall a time when I could see clearly without glasses or contacts.
I was blessed to be one of those children in the elementary school group photo with big frames covering her face (to make it worse it was the eighties: read very large frames).
To make it even better I was usually found in the back row of the photo as just a floating four-eyed head. Tall girls in the back. And, if that wasn’t fashionable enough, you can also add girl-with-glasses-who-played-sports to the list.
Do you see the picture clearly now?
I begged for contacts as soon as I discovered what those little plastic discs did to the naked human eye: they replaced goggles and frames. Brilliant!
My parents didn’t budge on the “no contacts rule” until I was well into high school. Apparently they didn’t understand the direct ratio of glasses to no dates. (Actually they probably did and it was their secret ploy to keep me on the sidelines.)
Finally the day arrived when contacts became my best friend and I bravely opened up my eye lids with two fingers and placed those squirmy little plastic things right on top of my pupil long enough to stick them in place and blink.
They’ve been with me ever since.
Today, I made my annual trip to the eye doctor and found myself explaining most of this to the poor optometrist measuring my eyeballs as he squirted a puff of air into each of them.
I’m sure he has never heard a sob story quite as pitiful.
As he worked away I blabbered on and on and he asked me over and over to pick between two lenses: “Better?” Flip. “Worse?” Flip. “Is this one better or worse?”
He sent me away with a new prescription in hand.
As he handed the little piece of paper with my new prescription scrawled in handwriting over to me he made a point several times of saying. “it’s not worse, just different than what you had before.”
I’m sure he’s right.
I’m also sure those glasses in elementary school were a pretty good idea back then too. It makes me wonder what I’ll think about the new frames I picked out today, oh, in say fifteen years?
When that time comes will someone please remind me:
“It’s not worse, just different.”