Four Eyes

The year is 1970, and the sun filters through the sheer curtains of our modest home, casting playful shadows across the living room floor where I, a spirited three-year-old, am lost in a world of imagination. Toys are scattered around me—worn wooden blocks, a handmade blue teddy bear, and my brother's set of plastic soldiers frozen mid-battle—all serving as my cast of characters in an unfolding adventure. Meanwhile, the staunch aroma of ammonia wafts in from the kitchen, where my mom, with her vibrant apron tied around her waist, is meticulously rolling curlers into a lady's hair, transforming mundane straight strands into a full head of curls. I can hear the gentle hum of their conversation alternating with bursts of their laughter, a melodic backdrop to my epic quests. Every now and then, Mom glances into the living room, her eyes sparkling with warmth and affection, encouraging me with a smile as she delicately balances her roles as a hairstylist and a nurturing mother. In that cozy, sun-lit space, surrounded by the comforting chaos of childhood and the simple joys of family life, I feel an intense sense of safety and love.

While I sit cross-legged on the living room carpet, my focus is captivated by the toys scattered around me. The weak morning sunlight filters through the window, casting playful shadows that dance around the room, but my play is slightly impeded by my cat eye glasses, which stubbornly slip down my nose. Every time I lean forward to stack the blocks higher, they slide further, an irritation that pulls my attention away from my imaginative creation. In this moment, they become more of a nuisance than a stylish statement, their silver frames a testament to the fashion trends of the times, serving as a stark contrast to the carefree playtime in which I'm fully absorbed. Nevertheless, I persist, adjusting my glasses with one hand while using the other to carefully place a block on top of another, the excitement of constructing a towering fortress momentarily eclipsing the annoyance of my accessories.

As a spirited three-year-old, the world felt endlessly expansive and brimming with possibility, yet nothing could quite eclipse my daily struggle with those pesky glasses. They perched precariously on my nose, forever slipping down at the most inconvenient moments, whether I was chasing butterflies in the backyard or exploring the wonders of our shelter belt with Troy. Each time I ran, the clunky frames would jolt, obstructing my view and causing frustration to bubble just beneath the surface of my innocent joy. I remember wishing fervently for a magical solution that would free me from their relentless grasp. In my vivid little imagination, I conjured images of my carefree brothers darting about unencumbered, their laughter echoing in the air, while I, burdened by my glasses, felt like an outsider yearning for the freedom of unlimited movement. In that moment, I hatched a devious plan to be rid of the silver-framed menace! I would "accidentally" break my glasses, so I couldn't wear them anymore.

With a gleeful yet guilty twinkle in my eye, I removed the devilish glasses from my face and stared at them as I formulated a plan. Finally, I decided to test my budding strength by deliberately bending the frames over my knee—a bold move for a pint-sized daredevil! The satisfying crunch of plastic echoed in the room, and as I surveyed the damage, a surge of panic washed over me. In a fit of creativity, I concocted a story for Mom: “They just fell off my face!” I exclaimed innocently, believing my cunning could save me from the pits of parental disappointment.

My no-nonsense mother stood before me, her eyebrows furrowed in that familiar mix of concern and frustration as she surveyed my broken glasses, their tiny lenses barely holding on to the separated frame. Without uttering a word, she reached for the pink hair-setting tape. With deft hands, she wrapped the tape around the nose bridge, her movements precise and purposeful, as though she were performing a delicate surgery on a beloved toy rather than a crucial accessory for my world. “Don’t you worry,” she said, a hint of sternness in her voice accompanied by a flicker of humor in her eyes, “These will hold until I can get you a new pair.” She plunked the tape-adorned glasses back onto my face with a final pat, sending me back into the living room to play.

As I resumed my play, the tape felt scratchy on my tiny nose. I had failed to imagine my mother would create a patchwork remedy to fix my dreaded glasses. I sighed in defeat before continuing to build the fortress with my blocks. Despite the failure of my ingenious plan, my imagination flourished; the plastic soldiers were now brave knights defending against the imaginary dragons I summoned from the depths of my mind. With each clatter of blocks, the kingdom I constructed became a vibrant landscape filled with adventure and camaraderie.

Meanwhile, my mom returned to her hairstyling, coaxing laughter from her client, who marveled at my makeshift glasses. “You see, dear,” my mother said playfully, “that’s the spirit! No challenge is too great when you have a bit of creativity and a lot of love.” I felt her words wrapping around me like the reliable warmth of sunlight pouring through the curtains.

The next hour passed in blissful play, and with every moment, I grew more aware of the world beyond my tower of blocks. The shadows shifted as the sun arched ever higher, and my little adventure began to fade into the afternoon. As I finally finished my fortress, I sat back, admiring my handiwork. The soldiers stood victorious, my teddy bear the crown prince, and the wooden blocks represented not just a castle, but the freedom of imagination unbound by any limitations.

At that moment, a sense of pride overwhelmed me, and I knew that even the most annoying accessories could not define my experience. I rose from the floor, glasses now a quirky reminder of my mom's resourcefulness, and made my way to my mom, whose conversation had turned into soft goodbyes as her client prepared to leave.

“Look, Mom!” I exclaimed, gesturing dramatically towards my majestic fortress. “I built a kingdom!”

With her eyes sparkling, she entered the living room to admire my creation. “And what a beautiful kingdom it is, my darling! Just like you, it has charm and strength.”

I heard the bus carrying my siblings arrive as my mom gathered me into her arms. “Sometimes, my love, the things we think hold us back can actually help us shine brighter,” she whispered, brushing a stray hair from my forehead as she adjusted the pink tape on my glasses.

And in that moment, under the embrace of my mom and surrounded by the loud entrance of my brothers and sister, I realized that my pesky glasses, much like life’s little obstacles, were simply another part of the adventure, adding depth to the beautiful chaos that was our everyday lives. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the love that wrapped around us, knowing that together, we could face the world—glasses and all.