This afternoon, I will take my son to the optician to pick up his first pair of glasses. He is entirely unfazed by this new chapter. I, on the other hand, am a mess.
Between the ages of five and 36 (at which point, fed up with sticky toddler fingerprints smeared across my glasses, I had laser treatment), I was wildly shortsighted. So shortsighted that, even with the thinnest available lenses, I still looked like a boy with a pair of jam jars strapped to his face. And while there is obviously nothing wrong with wearing glasses, I am acutely aware of the effect they can have on a young person.
