I am not saying I am competitive, but I was 48 when it happened.

He was 50.

By “it” – I mean having to buy reading glasses.

By “him” – I mean my Dad.

The optometrist handled me well. I told him that I was there to confirm I did not need glasses. 

He appropriately and politely ignored me while conducting the exam.

The journey from non-spectacled to bespectacled took less than 30 minutes and did not in fact kill me.

And so, on July 9th 2019 my denial - that my eyes need help reading the newspaper on Sundays - came to an end.

For most of my life, my eyes were superbly sharp. And so, I saw myself as person who would never need glasses.

Now, I can see how silly my complaints about “poor lighting” and my smug attitude of invincibility look.

But, there was an unforeseen gift in the transition this week

As a dyslexic, my typos are legendary in number and the degree of embarrassment they have caused me. 

But from now on, if you see something amiss in my writing – it’s probably because I forgot my glasses.

Here’s looking at you.