Wink and a Nod

Because I am very near-sighted, I must wear corrective lenses (glasses or contacts) so I can see anything that is further than six inches from my face. In fact, if I drop my glasses I am unable to find them until a good Samaritan shows up (hopefully without stepping on them) to help me locate them.

When I want to get a closer look at something I will (depending upon my mood or situation) either take off my glasses or look over the top of them (I’ve seen people lift their’s up and look under them). If I have my contacts in I will put on a pair of strong reading glasses (or grab a magnifying glass) to get a better view. 

As I can’t do without my lenses I go to the “Eye Doctor” about once a year.  The last time I went I met with a doctor young enough to be my son, and even though I was completely comfortable in his ability to do his job, I left (as I always do) feeling like I had made some poor choices.

I sat in a chair and stared at some letters on the wall. He then put a series of lenses in front of my face and asked me to choose between one lens and another, and then that lens and another, and then two different ones. Finally, I had to admit I really wasn’t sure (as I had become distracted by trying to see how many words I could come up with using the letters). I hinted that perhaps we should start over, as I may have made a mistake. The good Doctor Young, or the young Doctor Good assured me that he had double-checked my responses and was confident he had a good understanding of my vision needs.

Next came the selection of frames for my new glasses. As with anything else, fashion dictates the choices of frames available. Despite my best efforts and the guidance of the fashion-forward man helping me, I fear I failed in my attempt to be mistaken for Stanley Tucci; instead I may bear an uncanny resemblance to Larry Fine with facial hair and glasses.

I guess it doesn’t matter though, as neither of my grandsons seem to like me wearing glasses anyway. Micah, the older one will say “Pa, glasses off,” while his brother, Jonah, will just look the other way as if I was someone unworthy of his attention and beneath him somehow.

The boys’ dislike of mine or their grandmother’s reading glasses may have less to do with the style and shape of the frame than the obstacle they see in front of our eyes.

I find it fascinating that when two people, no matter what age, come face to face they look into each other’s eyes. We seem drawn to one another’s eyes and when we do a connection is established. Indeed, the eyes have it.

My grandsons smile at me when I blink and wink at them, and when they do I am filled with love and joy. William Butler Yeats said, “…Love comes in at the eye.” I can see that.