The Glasses (Revised)

What is your most embarrassing moment? Okay, if you live long enough…and are honest enough, so many humiliating things have taken place that to pick “most” is a bit difficult. How about the first embarrassing moment, can you recall that one? If you live long enough the red finally no longer rushes to your face every time that incident is mentioned; in fact you might be able to laugh as you tell others.

Let me take you on a trip down memory lane….my memory lane, and the first year in school. Times were different then: let’s just say it was a long, long time ago. Most parents didn’t have two cars, the Father worked and the Mother…well, black and white TV sort of thing. First day of school meant getting on a big yellow bus and riding miles (it really was miles), to get off in a totally strange environment. None of this, Mom taking you to school the first day sort of thing. Oh, and where I lived the first year was the first grade. Nope, no kindergarten, first grade.

So here was this brick building, not really big to be truthful, but huge to a six-year old, and his first day in school. Was this bad? No, what was terrible was the fact that I wore glasses. A five or six year old child wearing glasses today is nothing out of the ordinary; in fact it seems to almost be a status symbol in some areas. Let me tell you, this was not always the case. And when I was a kid it certainly didn’t make you part if the “in” crowd at any point. Later when I played football the glasses were forgotten but at this point I was six years old.

Now don’t even start about equality between the sexes. When I was a kid a six year old girl could be wearing glasses without a great deal of problem. Not the same thing with a boy! Yeah, I not only happened to be a boy wearing glasses I was the only kid in the first grade wearing them. and not the nice wire-rimmed things today, but yucky pinkish-yellow plastic frames it seemed all glasses were made of back then for kids, or unless your parents really put a lot of thought into it. Nice work Mom and Dad.

Don’t know about your school but in mine anyone who was different got singled out and a boy who wore glasses was different. Actually it wasn’t me that was so different, it was the glasses, still the names got called; stuff you never hear today. “Hey four eyes,” or “Need to borrow my dog, he can lead you around?” If you are the only one being singled out, little things like that can hurt after a while. On the playground you are the single target of dodge ball, or not even looked for in hide-and-seek.

Then came that magic day, the day some boy had the fantastic idea to take my glasses. Sure, I could have left them inside during recess, but why would I? My Mom as well as the doctor had said I should wear them all the time. Also not wearing them was just what everyone wanted me to do…and being forced to do something didn’t sit to well with me, even at age six. Anyway, back to that recess.

This school wasn’t a large school, like I said. One or two classes for each grade, meaning you quickly learned who all the teachers were, especially the ones teaching the years close to yours. Recesses were broken up to allow the younger kids to be out at a different time than the older ones. No reason to have first graders on the playground at the same time as sixth grade, you could end up with problems. Still the first through third grades were all outside at the same time and this ended with the problem.

Here I was on the playground, kids all over the place, and my precious glasses being passed around. Not only were the kids in my class involved but some second and third graders had gotten in on the fun. Chasing first one, then the other in a futile attempt to retrieve my property, it got to be a close thing a couple of times. The longer the chase went on the louder I yelled and madder I got. Now it was more than glasses; all the laughing and teasing had its effect and all I wanted was to get my hands on the one person in possession of my property, then pound them into the dirt!

Suddenly a voice cut across the playground, an adult voice. “Everyone stop this right now!”
There was almost total silence, even though the voice was a female. This was a person to be reckoned with, a teacher. Not just any teacher but Mrs. Clark, my first grade teacher.

Mrs. Clark was a teacher who was known to march a kid to the office on the very first day and nobody messed with her. Motion on the entire playground came to a halt as it became apparent who had just spoken.

“What is the problem here,” she asked, hands on her hips.

Nobody answered for a minute then one girl spoke up,

“Some of the boys have Jimmy’s glasses and won’t give them back.”

Okay, so now you know a second secret. My nickname when I was a kid was “Jimmy.” In fact a few die-hard members of my family still insist on using that name and since they are my elders (yes there are people older than me), I just grit my teeth (still have teeth) and reply.

“Is that so? Well, who has the glasses?”

Somebody took a step forward a held them out, stammering, “I-I-I didn’t take them. Somebody j-just shoved them in my hand. Nobody was going to keep them, we were just playing.”

“Playing. You were just playing. Do any of you know how much glasses cost?

Just shaking heads, no replies.

“Well,” she said, “ glasses are very expensive. Recess is over…for all of you, so go inside.”

There were a few groans; some of the boys scuffed at the dirt as they went but everyone left that area of the playground with their heads down. As each one passed there was a sideways glance towards me, silently placing blame for cutting short the time of freedom from the classroom.

“Jimmy, here are your glasses. Jimmy. Jimmy!”

“Oh, excuse me. Yes, thank you ma’am,” I said, taking the hated things from her hand.

Looked at her face I noticed she had a tiny mustache, making her the first woman I would know that possessed one of these. She also became the reason I got a new nickname: Teacher’s Pet. The nickname wore off before the year was out but every time I saw Mrs. Clark the shame of being rescued by a woman rushed back and I would look in another direction.

A side note: The first day of second grade I walked into class and who did I see at the front of the room? Mrs. Clark! It turned out she taught both first and second grade, alternating each year. She also turned out to be a very kind and gentle lady. Many, many years later when my Dad was in his 70s I happened to relate this incident to him in a letter. He wrote back and informed me that Mrs. Clark had been his second grade teacher.