The Go Fish Project

Up until the age of sixteen, I wore bifocals. Let that sink in a minute. Sixteen with bifocals. Oh yeah, and they were black, horn-rimmed. I am not making this up. How I have any self-esteem today is a testament to my sense of humor and thick skin. I actually thought people were laughing with me.

During childhood, I don’t remember being bullied about my bifocals. Perhaps it was because I was proactive. I used creative measures to make my eyewear appear cool to my friends. For instance, I would let them borrow my glasses to burn fire ants. Or a real crowd favorite was passing them around during class. If you held the bifocals just right, with the line between the lenses dividing the teacher in half, her top half was tall and skinny and her bottom half was short and fat, making her look like a talking pear. Math was never so fun!

By adolescence, though, I had had enough. Do you know how it feels to have your parents ask for your glasses so they could read the menu in restaurants? It made my parents look cheap and, well to be honest, pathetic. By this point, I decided. My driver’s license picture was not going to look like Roy Orbison.

The plan was to get contacts for my sixteenth birthday, so I pestered my mom relentlessly in the months leading up to the big day. She resisted until I played hardball on the menu reading. She set up the appointment with my ophthalmologist the next day.

The day of the appointment I was anxious. The nurse took me back and dilated my eyes. I practiced my speech over and over. Finally, the doctor entered the exam room. Showtime. I slowly lowered the flimsy sunglasses as maturely as I could. It was time to discuss, man to man, a simple business transaction. So he would understand my conviction on the matter, I looked him straight in the eyes. However, the examination light behind him seared my dilated retinas causing me to tear up. The doctor was touched by this perceived emotion - he agreed to my demands – it was time to try contacts! Wait. What? I didn't even get a chance to finish my speech.

I was so happy I blew right past the conditions...

In order to get contacts, I had to wean myself off bifocals first. I had to train my eyes from looking through two lenses down to one. My doctor said I needed to do this for 12 weeks. No big deal I thought - 12 weeks to freedom! He presented two options.

Option #1 was costly. My parents would have to fork over $250 for a new pair of glasses that I would only wear for 12 weeks. I knew this would never work. My dad was an accountant. Other accountants called him thrifty behind his back. He routinely required us kids to look for pennies every time we went to the mall. Because of my bifocals, loose change was magnified on the ground. Compared to my siblings, my productivity was through the roof. There was no way he was going to lose me as a revenue stream. Option #1 was off the table before we left the office.

Option #2 was costly, also, but not in a monetary sense. Realizing my dad's desire for the cheap route, my doctor quickly whipped out a roll of scotch tape and an Exact-o-knife. He covered the bottom half of my glasses with the scotch tape and with his skilled surgical hands, he trimmed the edges. In sixty seconds he occluded the bottom lens and VOILA! I had my single lens glasses.

He stood back and grinned. My father grinned. My siblings laughed. My mother looked away. One roll of $1.29 scotch tape would last the necessary 12 weeks. Shoot, I could find $1.29 with one pass in the food court on the way home. Sold! An hour before when I walked into the doctor's office, thanks to years of wearing bifocals, my self-dignity and pride hung on by a thread. When I walked out, I had neither. Option #2 took care of that. I would be forced to wear the taped up glasses at school for 12 weeks. Please don't forget that I was 16. It really wasn't when I was going to get beat up, it was how often.

I prepared for the worst. I drew up a will. I left my eyes to science so that somehow, some way, some smart researcher wearing bifocals could prevent this from happening to another kid.

Over the weekend I perfected my tape application technique so that the edges of the tape blended into the frames beautifully. I actually thought they looked pretty good. At school I went on the offensive. I asked everyone what they thought of my new “smoky-lens” glasses. I bragged that it was in Vogue in the larger cities. I noted that Robin Leach sported a pair himself on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. And you know what? They bought it.

Twelve weeks later, I went to school touting my new Bausch & Lomb breathable contact lens.

I loved the idea of contact lens, but I had to sacrifice to get them. Jesus loved the idea of having a relationship with all people, but he had to sacrifice to get them. Can’t we sacrifice a little to help Him?