A few weeks ago, I went in to the Optometrist to get a new prescription for my contact lenses and eyeglasses. I’m quite nearsighted, and have been since I was about 8 years old; which is when I started wearing specs. I started using contact lenses when I turned 18 the better to show off these baby blues; (and no, they are not colored by the lenses because only the Universe makes this particular shade of blue). In the past 3 years or so, I’ve been doing what most middle aged people do when they read a paper: they hold it at arms, length and pray that the instruction manual that has been translated from the Chinese into Cyrillic and then into English makes some sort of sense. What I can’t figure out is why I’ve suddenly gone farsighted in addition to being nearsighted…it makes absolutely no sense to me at all. So, I wear bi-focals when I’m wearing my cheaters, and up until two weeks ago, I had no problem with my contacts. Now, I need reading glasses on top of a stronger prescription. The amazing thing is that I can read a sign half a mile down the road, but I can’t even look at the computer screen without these cheap reading glasses.
Face it…I am now an adult.
Oh, there’s more: my oldest daughter got her first detention the other day. We won’t go into the details, except to say she beat me by three grades and definitely has her father’s temper and way with words. I calmly dealt with the situation, affording her the same courtesy that I never was shown as a child, and tried to sort through things logically. Ok, that worked fine. Then yesterday, my youngest daughter not only forgot her project for school, but she got a note sent home that she, like her father, loves to talk. She talks more than anyone on the planet; so much so that her seat was moved several times in the past few weeks. Not a happy camper was I; but I dealt with that situation with the dreaded “No television for a day or two” punishment. Needless to say, she tried every angle to get that nefarious predicament removed from her life and I wasn’t having any of it. Looks like not only have I become an adult about things, but I’m becoming more like a parent, sounding more like a parent, and acting more like a parent. I’m still trying to decide which TV Dad I resemble, and I’m convinced it’s a cross between Tim Taylor and Mike Brady with a little bit of Steve Douglas thrown in for good measure.
The final piece of the adulthood process came today when my daughter’s new cell phone arrived. Her old one went belly up last week, and the kid was going through a withdrawal worse than I was when I went to rehab for booze. After shelling out full price for the phone (thank you Sprint for being so flexible; we’ll happily wave goodbye to you in December when the contract runs out), I had it sent via UPS to the house. It was SUPPOSED to be activated already; in theory, all I had to do was turn it on, the old phone would have been removed from my account, and the new one added. Oh…I remember now, this is Sprint I was dealing with! The phone arrives, and I read over the set up instructions…and couldn’t find the battery cover. A stinking battery cover! And neither could my wife! Not only that, the very detailed diagram of the phone didn’t contain its exact location. Perplexed, we went on the internet and found the answer. Forgive me for thinking that the entire back of the phone was supposed to be removed to access the battery compartment. I was looking for something sane, like a recess somewhere in the device.
Now, I’m no stooge when it comes to electronics. I can set up home theater systems, computers, wire just about any electronic device you can think of. My wife is extremely tech savvy too; and here we were, two 40 somethings trying to figure out where a battery cover was. The activation didn’t happen as planned, so I went on the Internet to activate the phone that way. They asked me for the number ON the battery as confirmation; so now, I had to navigate that cover once again and locate the number. Needless to say, the number was too small for even my reading glasses and a 100 watt lightbulb to discern; so I called customer service who activated the phone. Cheerfully now having said device in operational form, I went out to pick up my daughter who was delighted when I drove up and waved the phone at her from the car. Once we got home, I asked her if she could find the battery compartment…just to see if it was a middle aged adult thing, or a common sense thing that the manufacturer screwed up on. She found it immediately; oh, she also never saw one of these phones before either (at least up close). So now, the text queen is happily typing away on her slide out QWERTY keyboard giving her thumbs a workout.
Yup, I’ve officially been christened an adult and a father under fire in the past few days. I can’t read without my glasses, my kids are getting into age bracket behaviors that I have to deal with simultaneously, and I can’t find a damned battery cover on a phone. I did manage to get a very cool ring tone assigned to me by my daughter: it sounds like a bad 70’s porno soundtrack, with the “whaka-whacka” funky back-beat. Absolutely perfect for this child of the 60’s and 70’s.
I wonder if Mike Brady would have found that battery cover?
“Thirty-Five is when you finally get your head together, and when your body starts falling apart” – Karen Leschen