January 5, 2021
As I began to type this blog post, an embarrassing little thing had to be done before I started. It is only fitting that I share this tidbit with you because I want to be honest and vulnerable with what I write. So, here is the moment of truth.
I had to enlarge the font to 16 so that I could read it on the computer screen as I type.
This fact is significant because it is a smaller part of a bigger truth…my fortieth birthday happens in four days and age is catching up with me. I have been told about this birthday since adolescence, always in the guise of a backhanded compliment. I have never looked my age until…now. Strangers were always amazed to learn that I was not say 15, but 21 or 28 or 30, depending on what season of life I was in. This amazement was always followed by, “Well, you’ll appreciate it when you’re 40!” This comment was subsequently followed by my fake smile and then an eyeroll behind their back.
Somewhere between then and now, I have lived a full 39 years and 360 days. The other morning in bed, I rolled over to my husband, looked adoringly into his face, and said, “Sweetie, we always talked about wanting to grow old together, but looking at us now, I think we have!” We both laughed, but I secretly made a mental note to pick up a new box of hair dye for my gray streak that was starting to peek through.
Now, on to the title of this piece- Dear Mister. I had this idea rattling around in my noggin for a couple weeks and I liked it so much, I thought I would do it. A “Dear Mister” blog will be written to someone that I want to give a hearty thank you for something that person has done that has impacted my life. Since this one started with such an auspicious occasion as my approaching birthday, my “Dear Mister” letter will match in kind.
Dear Mister B. Franklin,
You first impacted my life in second grade. I didn’t know then that you were the person to thank for the misery that attached itself to the incident known as “my new glasses.” I was in Mrs. Allen’s class that year, and for some reason she kept the fuzziest chalk board at Frankfurt Elementary #1. Unbeknownst to me, the fault was not with Mrs. Allen or her fuzzy chalkboard, but with my own retinas.
I had an eye exam scheduled to clear the chalkboard of any guilt over the fuzziness. I made it abundantly clear to my mother that I was returning to school after this check-up, fearful of missing anything important. She promised that she would be happy to make this happen. During this eye exam, the doctor explained that my eyes needed to be dilated. Yucky drops were applied to my eyes and the most hideous paper sunglasses were put on my face so we could wait in the lighted lobby for the drops to work before my eyes were checked again. Back into the exam chair I went after the appropriate amount of time had slowly passed. The doctor looked at my eyes forever. The fateful pronouncement came. Bifocals. Followed by an even worst announcement. I wasn’t going back to school that day due to the dilation.
There was much wailing.
The new glasses came a couple weeks later and then my life in “my new glasses” began. The board cleared up instantly; I could refocus from the board to the paper on my desk. So, thank you, Mr. Franklin for the ingenious idea to put two different lenses into one pair of glasses. I don’t harbor any grudge against you for the glasses. However, Mrs. Allen did tell me that old people wore bi-focals and that I must be old since I had bi-focals. She thought she was being funny. I might still hold a grudge against that comment.
Sincerly,
Me