Friday, September 17, 2004
Page 15
AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)
The Eyes No Longer Have It
By J’AMY PACHECO
“Men trust their ears less than their eyes.”
—Herodotus
“Hold on a minute while I find my other glasses.”
—Me
It looks like I’m going to have to start paying more attention to my ears. My eyes are going to the dogs—so to speak.
I’ve been a wearer of prescription glasses since my early 20s. I didn’t even realize I needed them to see distances until I saw a doctor for headaches and was referred to an eye doctor.
I still remember driving home the day I got my first pair of glasses. It’s a wonder I didn’t have an accident, so mesmerized was I by the realization that it was possible to see actual leaves on trees. Up until that point, trees had always appeared as large green blobs.
Of course, it’s a wonder that I didn’t have an accident before that, with my eyes having deteriorated as much as they had before I got glasses.
Although there are times when they’re awkward—like when I’m swimming—I don’t really mind wearing glasses. I wore contact lenses for a while, but stopped when I became pregnant and they irritated my eyes. A lot of things irritated me in those days.
Once the baby came, I was always so tired that the contact lenses actually hurt. Eight years have passed, and now I don’t even think about contact lenses anymore.
The biggest annoyance comes from having to switch between regular glasses and prescription sunglasses. I know lenses exist that will automatically lighten and darken, but I like my sunglasses.
Other than occasional adjustments to my prescription, things have gone pretty smoothly with my glasses. Until the latest development, that is.
It started with a piece of candy. I used to think the only bad thing to come from candy would be a need for larger pants. But when my daughter handed me a piece of candy retrieved from a birthday party treat bag, I realized I couldn’t read the flavor on the wrapper.
I found that if I lowered my glasses, I could read the label. I performed a quick experiment—I put my glasses back up, and held the candy out at arm’s length. I could read the label. But when I pulled it closer, the words blurred.
Two words came immediately to mind. One I can’t print here; suffice to say it was a colorful metaphor. The other was “bifocals.”
Few things make a woman feel as old as the realization that she’s probably going to need bifocals.
I remember the first time I felt old. I was getting ready for work, listening to the radio when the Elton John song, “Bennie and the Jets” played.
Remembering the song from my junior high school days, I happily sang along with the few lyrics I could actually understand. When the song ended, the deejay pronounced it an “oldie” from the previous decade.
I couldn’t believe it. But then, I was in my early 20s, and nothing sagged. I didn’t even have my first pair of glasses—but I felt downright ancient.
I’m going to turn 45 in November—the same age as the legendary Barbie doll. At 45, she gets to be featured on a bunch of collectible merchandise at Hallmark. I apparently get bifocals.
Before she died, my maternal grandmother became legally blind. Once, when she was hospitalized and missed her cat terribly, I searched in vain for a stuffed white kitten. I finally settled for a fuzzy white otter.
When I presented it to her, she felt it and seemed baffled by the shape. I confessed that it was a stuffed otter, and explained that I figured since she couldn’t see, she wouldn’t know the difference.
She thought it was hilarious, and proudly showed her “kitten” to the puzzled nurses who cared for her. She could find the humor in just about anything.
So, as I head to the eye doctor to get fitted for my first pair of bifocals, I’m hopeful I can find a special pair of frames—perhaps a nostalgic Barbie 45th anniversary pair in pink.
I may not be able to see the future clearly, but I’m going to go into it with style. Or at least a sense of humor.
Copyright 2004, Metropolitan News Company