It was bound to happen eventually. With five kids, the odds that at least one of them would inherit my wonky eye genetics were pretty close to 1-1. So when The Centurion (TC) noted that he couldn’t see the clock on the DVR from the couch, I had a pretty good idea of what was going on.
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| The face of a happy kid who can read a clock across a room again. |
One visit to my eye-doc later, and we had a diagnosis: near-sighted, just like his Old Man. At least TC was happy about getting glasses. I got my first pair of external eyes around the same age, and don’t recall being nearly so sanguine, either at the time, or for a number of years after.
“But Aaron,” someone from the back asks, “what was your problem with corrective lenses? Didn’t you enjoy being able to see the details around you?”
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| X-15 Pilot photo via Wikipedia |
Well, yes, I did, and that part was very nice. However, let’s take a look at the picture above, shall we? Among the many things that these men have in common, note the distinct lack of any kind of corrective lenses on their faces. See, test pilots and fighter jocks didn’t wear glasses. And just like that, I passed through one of the first forks in a very long road that would put me where I am today.
I’d like to think that my general antipathy towards eyewear helped me deal with TC better. He doesn’t (as far as I know) harbor fighter pilot ambitions, not that it matters for recruitment standards these days anyway, but he does enjoy playing sports, and I had to assure him that he’ll still be able to do that. To my pleasant surprise, he’s also been called “Four-Eyes” a whole lot less than I did back in the ‘80s. Score one for the kids of today, I guess.