Last week I lost my sunglasses. It bummed me out for a couple of
reasons. First, I really liked those sunglasses,
and just like every time I grow attached to something, they quit making it. Then
for some cosmic reason yet identified, I lose it. Second, I need sunglasses. Let me say that again in case you missed it…..I
NEED sunglasses. I don’t know if it’s because
I’ve just worn them for all of my life, or I have a sensitivity to sunlight, or
what…..but I really struggle without sunglasses at the ready.
Over the years I have purchased many pair, ranging the
entire spectrum of the price range. From
a penny at a yard sale, to stupidly high priced brand named units that promised
to make both the world, and myself better to look at. Like many of them, the ways in which I have
lost them are as varied as the glasses I have purchased.
I have looked over
the railing of bridges and buildings only to watch my favorite (at the time)
sunglasses tumble and plummet to the earth below. I have
frantically grasped at them as they have been knocked over board, only to see
them sink slowly beneath green waves, like Leonardo DeCaprio in the Titanic
movie. The only difference was that my
loss was actually tragic. I have put them on the roof of a car and driven off. They have been stolen. I don’t know who steals sunglasses, but I
will blame the Germans. A favorite young
son of mine liked to blame the Germans for things stolen without reason. It’s a bit random but I like it so I also
have adopted this philosophy.
I tend to hang them on the front of my shirt. I often hug or am hugged, and many a pair has
met its demise this way, crushed and broken in the embrace of friendship. Actually, now that I think about it, not one
of my loving, hugging friends who broke my damn sunglasses in this fashion has ever
offered to replace them……wtf?
This last pair of missing sunglasses really bothered
me. They were only $40. Not too expensive, and they were certainly no
ridiculous brand named facial accessory. Still, they were comfortable, worked perfectly
and were for the most part, not too scratched up. I think what’s more irritating than losing them
is that I had no idea at what point in my life, day, week, they became lost,
and that I was now faced with the daunting task of finding yet another “perfect
pair.”
Buying sunglasses is almost worse than car shopping, or
shopping for a shirt to wear to a party at the last damned minute. Finding the right pair of sunglasses is just
a crap thing to involve yourself in. The
entire time you can only think about the last pair you had, and try to find ones just
like them, which as I said earlier is a universal improbability. You have to try on all the samples that every
other person has already had on their faces,… and (I don’t know why this
is) the stupid, idiotic sunglasses makers
put stickers on the lenses…..so when you try them on….you can’t see through
them to see if you like them. Also, you can’t
take them outside. You have to try on
something you can only use outside, inside a store. I really don’t get that. Has no one brought this up in a board meeting
at wherever-the-hell they make sunglasses?
Even those outrageous info-mercials , (you know…those Blue Blocker things
that use retired people so loaded on medication they would agree to be set
on fire just as easily as trying on those ugly brown goggles that cover their
entire faces….I think it helps to keep them from being identified when they run
over small children in school zones) at least have the common sense to shoot
the commercials outside!
So…the other day I went to Dad’s to pick him up. He got in the car and looked right at me and
said, “Where are your sunglasses, Mate?”
I guess he is used to seeing me wear them. I told him that I had lost them and had not
found a new pair. He looked back at me
and (I swear I could hear him ask before the words came out) and said, “Where
did you lose them?” It must have been
the look on my face. I’m not sure, but
he decided to drop it for a while. Then,
a little while later he told me that he had an old pair that he had for years
in a drawer that I could have if I wanted them.
I asked what they were. He told
me that an aviation outfit had sent them to him to try out (Dad was a
professional pilot for most of his career) but he never ever used them or wore
them. He said they were brand new. I wasn’t too excited, but said I would take a
look.
Later that afternoon when I dropped him back home, he
insisted on taking me in to show me these sunglasses. From a drawer, he pulled out this TOTALLY
AMAZING PAIR OF NEVER USED, 70’s AVIATOR SUNGLASSES, BRAND NEW, still in the
case!!!
Dad came to the rescue.
At first I said no, because they were just lovely and I wasn’t sure he
really wanted to part with them, but he insisted and I happily accepted. I look like a cross between Cyrano De Bergerac,
and Arnold Horshack when I where them, but I do not give shit. I love them.
They are metal, heavy, uncomfortable and stupidly over-sized, but they
are perfect. From the gold rims, to the
Tortoise shell bridge and ear thingies, the little nose pads, they are just magical. They even came with a box and that big old
glasses cleaner rag thing you could nearly wash your car with. The lenses are not cheap. They are expertly hand crafted and polished
to perfection. You can actually look directly
into the sun and see it in detail with them on. You could even stand on the deck of a battleship and watch them detonate some apocalyptic warhead without fear of cooking your eye sockets.
They are beyond fantastic. I feel
like Burt Lancaster in one of those awesome Airport ’76 movies.
Later that day, after arriving home, I showed them off to
Eileen whom I could tell did not have the heart to tell me that I look like had
just traveled back in time a few decades.
II went into my office to get something out of my backpack. There, in the side pocket, were my old
sunglasses. I have to admit to a moment
or two of confusion. The memory of why
and where I had put them came flooding back in one of those familiar “Oh yeah!!”
moments, but I was also disappointed. I
was glad to see them, but also felt a bit weird about keeping the super cool
aviators. I called dad to tell him the
news, but he immediately said to keep the aviators. So, now I have two pairs of favorite
sunglasses. I still wear the old pair to
work and for bike riding, but will keep the aviators for those special drives
in the Triumph, or maybe for a gig onstage.
It’s amazing how folks can “come through” in ways that just
blow your mind. To Dad, the aviators
were just a dusty box hiding in a draw for nearly forty years. To me, they were an unearthed treasure to
behold, and a fix to a problem that needed a good and proper fix. To many of us, the things we can do for one
another can seem like such a small and insignificant bit of help which cost us
so little that it can’t be measured. To
others the way in which we “come through” for someone can be life changing, immeasurable
and often, just at the right time!