Eyeglasses and the things that stick to them.

I found this sitting on my hard drive while cleaning things out today. I wrote it on July 7, 2000. I didn’t post it on my blog because that was before blogs. I could have posted it on my website, but I didn’t get around to it. I think I’ve got two or three other things I wrote for no other reason than I felt like writing -- or I felt like not doing what I was supposed to be doing. Anyway, here are my thoughts on eyeglasses from six years ago.

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There are many disturbing things that happen as a result of aging. Aches, pains, incontinence, the inability to understand current popular music lyrics, overwhelming bouts of maudlin nostalgia, the getting-up-and-going of one’s get-up-and-go, and the increasing effect of caffeine on ones system are just a few.

I think, for me, the most annoying product of impending middle age is that I can’t seem to keep my eyeglasses clean anymore. From time to time, while staring dully at my computer screen (which also happens much more frequently these days), I’ll notice what appear to be smudges and spots on the monitor. I’ll dutifully clean them with a static-free cloth, and then notice that the same smudges have moved to my desk, telephone, clock (which gets an increasing amount of attention, as well), or coworkers. Now, with some of my coworkers, I don’t mind it as much, but it’s nice to be able to tell who’s coming to see if you want some fresh fruit apart from the young punks who are trying to stab you in the back!

Eventually, I’ll realize that it’s my glasses that are smudged, not the rest of the world. I seriously do not recall it being this much of a problem when I was younger. (Oh, great. More nostalgia!) My glasses could stay clean all day… even when I ate pizza for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and every in-between-meal snack! (Alas, that, as well, would now have embarrassing, if not disastrous effect on my ever-nigh-unto-decrepit body!) Occasionally I’d wipe them off on my shirt tail (which is much higher than it used to be), or other cloth that was lying around (more and more I’m only finding ragged underwear), and be set for the rest of the day, or more!

But now they seem to be grease magnets! Finger prints, spots from a particularly strong sneeze, blits of moisture from watering eyes (happens with kids, don’t’cha know!), dust, lint, animal dander, eyelashes, and who knows WHAT else, seem to use my glasses as a meeting place.

I’ve considered getting laser surgery to correct my vision. Only one thing troubles me. No, it’s not the though of some nut waving an exacto-knife around my eyeball while his mind is on his golf swing. It’s the thought of all that stuff that’s floating around, trying to get on my glasses…. Where’s it going to go if my glasses are gone? Exactly -- Right onto my eyeball!

I’m beginning to wonder if this wasn’t what great-aunt Maisy used that can of Scotch-Gard for, the one she kept handy at her sewing table when I was a kid. I thought it was kinda funny that she had it there; one doesn’t normally water-proof gingham dresses and ugly plaid shirts, as she was fond of making for all the kids. Granted, it would have made sense some of the summers we spent there, with the heat and humidity making our time in the yard more like time in a sauna…. Gee, there goes that nostalgia again!

Where was I? Oh, yes, pontificating… I’ve thought about blaming the smears and smudges on my spectacles on my infant son. But then I realize that he’s four now. Fortunately I have an infant daughter to blame it on. She hasn’t learned to keep her grimy, greasy, dirty, adorable little hands off of my glasses yet. She thinks they (and everything else within reach) are chew toys. She’ll grab ‘em when they’re on my face, try to climb the dresser to where I keep them when I’m laying down, and generally do what she can to leave her adorable, if grimy, fingerprints on the lenses. Yes, that would certainly explain it.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t explain what happens on the days that I clean my glasses before leaving the house, while she’s still asleep, and then find them already spotted and streaked by the time I sit down at my office. It must be gremlins.

Couldn’t be age.

Favorite quote for today

Walter Bagehot said, “The reason why so few good books are written is that so few people who can write know anything.”

Growing up is weird.

Today I find myself at Pepperdine University, at the annual Bible Lectures. My family and I have been coming to the Lectures for over 20 years, with only a couple of breaks. It’s part learning, part Church of Christ family reunion, part vacation.

I graduated from this campus 19 years ago, and there is still a feeling of coming home when I visit. More and more, though, it’s feeling like a house I used to live in, with new residents who have no idea who I am. This year, it’s even more true, since several of the most familiar and dear faces are absent. Some folks are in the process of moving, some are very bogged down with work and family projects, a few have fallen ill at the moment, and others are traveling elsewhere. The first two familiar faces I saw on campus called me by the wrong name, which was a little unsettling. It feels a bit like the place has forgotten me.

On the other hand, there are many friends here, and some acquaintances I have made that I get to talk with once a year, here at the Lectures. Some people recognize my name and face from Worship Forum, and others I have met at the ZOE Group conferences. I’m also here with my wife and kids, and there are several folks from our church here. So it’s not as if I’m feeling lonely or abandoned.

I am a bit reflective, though, about the change in my identity over the years. I used to see myself as so much a part of the Pepperdine community. Now I still am, but only indirectly. I used to be identified as “Garey and Gerry’s son,” and I’m finding more places where they are identified as “Tim’s parents,” instead. I used to be just another member at our church, and now I’m enough of a loud mouth that some think of me as a leader there.

I suppose the point is that I never realized how long growing up was going to take. Wasn’t I supposed to be grown up by 21 or so, or at least by 30? Now I’m 41, almost 42, and am still getting a handle on being an adult.

My son, who is 9, was recently lamenting how much harder is life as a 4th grader is than it was when he was two or three years old, and wishing he could go back. I didn’t want to tell him that it only gets crazier as you get older. He’d probably curl up into a fetal position and start sucking his thumb. I know I sometimes want to.

If I did, though, I would be failing to value the things that God has taught me through my life, and would also not recognize the things that He has done with me over the past 41, almost 42, years. Growing up is His design, and I need to be more thankful for it than I am, sometimes. On balance, all the responsibilities I have to attend to are probably offset by all of the talents I have and skills I have developed by His grace.

Well, by those things, and by outgrowing zits.