I am not saying I am competitive, but I was 48 when it happened.
He was 50.
By “it” – I mean having to buy reading glasses.
By “him” – I mean my Dad.
The optometrist handled me well. I told him that I was there to confirm I did not need glasses.
He appropriately and politely ignored me while conducting the exam.
The journey from non-spectacled to bespectacled took less than 30 minutes and did not in fact kill me.
And so, on July 9th 2019 my denial - that my eyes need help reading the newspaper on Sundays - came to an end.
For most of my life, my eyes were superbly sharp. And so, I saw myself as person who would never need glasses.
Now, I can see how silly my complaints about “poor lighting” and my smug attitude of invincibility look.
But, there was an unforeseen gift in the transition this week
As a dyslexic, my typos are legendary in number and the degree of embarrassment they have caused me.
But from now on, if you see something amiss in my writing – it’s probably because I forgot my glasses.
Here’s looking at you.
