What a delight! Undoubtedly the highlight of my week is connecting with my high school English teacher via the internet social phenomena Facebook. She asked if I was writing and reminded me of a short ditty I wrote for one of her classes many decades ago called “How to eat a hoagie.” (Yes, I did do some selective homework in spite of my wife’s erroneous reflections.) I’ve got to admit to a momentary rush of pride until my teacher brought me back to earth with an offsetting comment about my spelling abilities. Thanks to you Mrs. R., this is titled with something simple that I hopefully can’t misspell. (Although I had some great candidates such as “Oh say can you see” , “The eyes have it”, and “Open my eyes,” etc.)
Because of my age and some risk factors, I am one of those folks who is chosen to see an ophthalmologist yearly. It is a pleasant visit, especially with one doctor who reminisces with me about airplanes in our Viet Nam days. Today the routine examination shows that an eye watering problem results from a lens that is too strong, coupled with an eyelid duct problem. The reserved Pennsylvania Deutsch heritage in me still has difficulty adjusting to a stranger less than a foot from my nose.
Finally, that part of the exam is over and he says I need a new pair of glasses. (I knew I should have brought my wife along, but I’ll solve that with a phone call.) Now it’s time for the tougher part. After some checks that seem to virtually touch my eyeballs, he inserts two separate sets of drops into my eyes. There is a long twenty minute wait for the drops to “do their thing” and finally my eyes are satisfactorily dilated. The doctor dims the lights and my vision is blurry to say the least. The doctor is very serious as he concentrates on examining the back inner parts of my eyes. I wonder if this is how he focused when he was doing a bombing run in his F-4 Phantom fighter/bomber in Viet Nam. It seems like he is peering into my soul and he isn’t saying anything now. After what seems like an eternity, he says he see no damage and gives me a healthy verdict. The test is over. He rewards me with a sunshade to insert behind my glasses and shield my dilated eyes for the trip home.
Everything that I view seems slightly surreal although I can see fine. In fact, I forget all about my visit as I drive home and rush to get ready for an evening engagement. As I leave home everything is normal navigating along darkened roads and landscape. That is, until the first oncoming headlights approach. Every headlight has at least one contrail and often more than one. I have no problem driving other than it being weird. In fact, it is kind of neat to drive past the lights at the local community college and see the light beams magically turn into Moravian star-like appendages. Traffic lights are a real trip.
The real situation arises when I get to my destination and enter the well lit meeting room. I am utterly amazed to realize that everyone in my focus has at least one halo-like beam radiating down onto their head. The light beams follow their every movement; although I am sure I’m the only observer. It’s difficult to not stare at each of the previously “normal” folks with their new, almost angelic appearance.
I realize that my pupils provide a valuable protection as they dilate and contract accordingly in various lighting situations. However, I am thankful for the temporary effect of those special eye drops in helping me see folks in a new way. No longer does the meaning of “open my eyes” have anything to do with my eyelids. I am grateful for having my eyes dilated so I can realize how wonderful it is to see everyday people in a wonderful new light. Now, I need to do it without any dilating drops.
