I guess it’s been almost twenty-five years now since I started wearing glasses. Seems like there might have been a clue or two—having to hold the book a little farther away or leave the newspaper on the desk and read it while standing. Subtle little hints…
But I remember clearly the convincing event that led to my first pair of reading glasses. It was a sort of electro-mechanical thing: removing my son’s CD player from his car before he sold it.
Twisted around, halfway upside down, my rear end in the seat and my shoulders on the floorboard, I was removing the screws that held it mounted underneath the dash of his ’86 Chevy Celebrity. I kept knocking the back of my head against the floor. Why? Simple. I was trying to get my eyes far enough way from the screws so that I could get a focused image.
Apparently, it was going to take more than an old Johnny Nash song for me to see clearly again. Even after the rain was gone. When it came to having to cut a hole in the floorboard or get a pair of glasses, I opted for the glasses.
“Well,” I lamented to myself, “there goes my career stealing stereos… Can’t take the risk of dropping my glasses and thus leaving evidence at the crime scene!” Fortunately, I was able to fall back on my career at that time as a school principal.
Generally, recognizing the true nature of our limitations usually makes us more accepting of the necessary accommodations. Sometimes, I reckon its economics that makes us resist the spending the money that makes things better for us. Most often, I suspect, it’s more a matter of pride.