Red, Rose Coloured, Glasses
Monday, June 22, 2009
In the summer of 1993/94, I slowly became aware that the world around me was turning fuzzy. The poplar trees at the edge of the paddock blurred in a mess of brown and green; I couldn't see the raspberries on the vine, let alone their sharp protectors. My cricket suffered, and I was out bowled more than I was out caught. An eye-opening moment came when I couldn't see a ten foot sprinkler from about twelve meters away. But I wasn't certain.
Then school started, with all the excitement of the final years of Primary School. I approached the new year with renewed diligence and a desire to fix my wayward handwriting. As was the style, the seating plan was fixed, and I was near the back of the room. I couldn't see the blackboard. I told my parents; I needed glasses.
Indeed, I did. Dad took me off the the optometrist for testing; I was short sighted. I picked out a pair of red glasses. Spring-loaded arms; much more durable for a young active kid. My Dad had red glasses too. He wore them most of the time, although for some holidays and when golfing, Dad'd wear contacts.
I got contacts in my last year of school; I'd made the top Waterpolo Team with a 'script of -4.00D and decided it was time to see what was happening in the pool. I still only really wear them for sport. Glasses are just part of me; something I put on in the morning and take off to sleep; it's like that for the billion or so of us that have myopia.
I recently visited the optometrist and updated my glasses. It was about time too, my 'script had gone up more than a diopter in each eye; and, in old terms, it's about 20:1000+. Seriously.
Anyway, I was home from Uni one summer, looking through photos with Mum. In all the photos, Dad wore glasses. That summer, he'd started wearing contact lenses again. He hadn't worn them since 1994. He didn't want me to be worried about wearing glasses. That it was normal. That I wasn't the only ten year old with blurry vision. That I could still do anything I wanted.
I still get out bowled more than I get out caught. My handwriting is still atrocious. But I've never been self-conscious about my glasses.
Then school started, with all the excitement of the final years of Primary School. I approached the new year with renewed diligence and a desire to fix my wayward handwriting. As was the style, the seating plan was fixed, and I was near the back of the room. I couldn't see the blackboard. I told my parents; I needed glasses.
Indeed, I did. Dad took me off the the optometrist for testing; I was short sighted. I picked out a pair of red glasses. Spring-loaded arms; much more durable for a young active kid. My Dad had red glasses too. He wore them most of the time, although for some holidays and when golfing, Dad'd wear contacts.
I got contacts in my last year of school; I'd made the top Waterpolo Team with a 'script of -4.00D and decided it was time to see what was happening in the pool. I still only really wear them for sport. Glasses are just part of me; something I put on in the morning and take off to sleep; it's like that for the billion or so of us that have myopia.
I recently visited the optometrist and updated my glasses. It was about time too, my 'script had gone up more than a diopter in each eye; and, in old terms, it's about 20:1000+. Seriously.
Anyway, I was home from Uni one summer, looking through photos with Mum. In all the photos, Dad wore glasses. That summer, he'd started wearing contact lenses again. He hadn't worn them since 1994. He didn't want me to be worried about wearing glasses. That it was normal. That I wasn't the only ten year old with blurry vision. That I could still do anything I wanted.
I still get out bowled more than I get out caught. My handwriting is still atrocious. But I've never been self-conscious about my glasses.
I was when I first got them, aged 6, but now everyone seems to have them. I think I hit neg 4.00 when I was about 19. Luckily it seems to have plateaued at 5 though, I was getting a bit concerned about needing a labrador for my 30th bday....