An Optometric Autobiography

The other day I picked up my new glasses from Costco, and in addition to making it possible for me to see my morning Grape Nuts, they’ve got me feeling all sorts of nostalgic.

I’ll never forget the first time I put on my pink wire-rimmed glasses. I was in third grade, and my mom and I had just picked them up from the Fashion Place Mall. We walked outside and I gawked at the trees across the street, saying "I can see the leaves!” I hadn’t realized most people were seeing each blade of grass instead of a haze of green. And of course that memory’s got me thinking about all the discussions I had with my students when I was teaching The Chosen (read it, it’s fabulous) about how our perceptions shape our reality.

Then there’s my checkered history with optometrists. Nothing can brighten your vision along with your outlook like a visit to Uncle Terry—the perfect order of his office, the joke about the eyes being the window to the soul, and the slyly inserted four-letter words. In contrast, I’m still traumatized by my trip to BYU’s Ronald McDonald Health Center, which (if you’re among the few of my acquaintances who haven’t heard this story) featured my left eyeball and a drill. And then there was the ill-fated appointment at the Provo Eye Compound, where they confiscated my contacts, dilated my pupils, and plopped me down among five hundred framed James Christensen prints. I love his art in moderation, but a room flitting with blurry gnomes and fuzzy fairies is scary. My most recent visit was sort of bland. I saw Dr. Cheryl Torghele at the Salt Lake Clinic because of the two doctors near my zip code covered by my Health Value plan, she’s a woman.

I suppose these memories could lead to a health-care debate regarding “choice and competition” among providers, but I’m not sure I have enough blogging experience to moderate comments like, “You lie!” Or they could lead to thoughtful reflections on perception and perspective, but I tend to moralize and I think you’d get bored(er). So instead I’ll conclude with a few questions.

1. What else out there (figuratively speaking) comes in leaves and blades but I’m only seeing in blobs?
2. (This one is borrowed from Children of Eden. Also fabulous. Listen to it after you read The Chosen.) “Once eyes are opened, must they then harden?”
3. What’s the verdict on the new specs: smart, sassy, or silly?