A Trip To King Optical

The summer of 1960 must have been slow and boring. I didn’t have any friends on the sideroad, I was too old to play with dolls, and too young to appreciate the music of Elvis. I had stopped keeping an account of our daily activities. Nothing exciting or spectacular ever happened. We never went anywhere as a family because the cows required milking twice a day. Nobody’s going to volunteer for that chore, so our outings were limited to the Friday night grocery trip to town.

I remember going to the Soo Theater and watching cowboy movies. If we didn’t need much, Mom made a lightning fast trip to Callahan’s Market and there was no time for a show. In that case, we kids enjoyed a chocolate malt at the Midtown Restaurant. I was only 13 but thought Mike Silverman was the best soda jerk in town. Some of you might remember Mike and agree.

Well anyway, the summer of 1960 was the summer I convinced myself I needed glasses. I don’t know what put that notion into my head, but I pestered Mom for weeks before she finally relented and made an appointment at King Optical. Were there opticians in the Soo? I have no idea. I only know Canada was the place to go for spectacles, and I couldn’t wait.

Maybe my enthusiasm had something to do with Jude’s glasses. She had been to King Optical and returned wearing a stylish pair of horn rims. There were two things of my sister’s I coveted. One was her blue plaid shorty jacket, and the other was her glasses.

On the appointed day, Mom and I went to town and caught the ferry. I was aflutter with excitement. Mom was probably disgusted. She didn’t think there was anything wrong with my young eyes, and truthfully, neither did I. But you know how kids are. Beleaguered parents sometimes give in just to shut us up. Mom knew perfectly well I would need glasses because anyone visiting King Optical, whether 8 or 98, was diagnosed with poor vision.

As expected, my eyes failed the test. Within weeks I had my own pair of horn rims and couldn’t have been more proud. I wore them faithfully until Cousin Jack looked through them. He laughed and said the glass was no stronger than a window pane. His announcement was crushing. I knew they were only window glass and now all the relatives would too. It wasn’t long before I banished my fashion accessory to the bottom of my sweater drawer.

Hindsight told me I should have asked for something practical like a blue plaid shorty because I never did grow into Jude’s.