When my mother discovered that, at age nine, I could not make out that the blobs on the distant telegraph pole were in fact birds, she marched me off to the optician for my first pair of glasses. I was quietly devastated. I didn't take kindly to such indignity, or to such obvious evidence of imperfection. These days, though, it's cool. There are many, many, frames to choose from, no-one is teased any more - for slight short sight at least - and when my son reported a few weeks ago, at the same age, that he couldn't make out everything on the white board, he was delighted to have his eyes checked, and when he subsequently received his first pair of glasses, said it was better than a birthday present. Even if he does seem more interested in using them for alternative ways of looking at the world, than in the more conventional way...
