Making a spectacle of one's self ...

He sits in the chair and plays patty cake with the armrests.

He is nervous, though he isn't saying so.

"They won't touch my eye with any of these gadgets, will they?"

"They'll just ask you to look through the goggles and tell them what you see. It's not uncomfortable."

I'm just trying to smooth over his fears, and I'm not sure it's helping.

Discomfort comes in many forms. Especially where small cubicles contain larger-than-life anatomical eyeballs.

Experience, I suppose, is one antidote to discomfort.

But it helps when part of that practice lets you choose your specs.

And it helps when no one actually pokes you in the eye.
Because knowing what to expect often takes practice. ...

And patience. ...

And perhaps answering all manner of questions that don't seem to have anything to do with the present circumstances. Such as ...

"When I'm 20, how will you do errands?"
"Maybe I'll send you to do them for me."
"But what if I'm in college ... or far away?"
"Then I'll just do them ... same as now."
"But how? You might not be big enough."
"I'm not going to shink THAT much in just 12 years."

After all, I'm sure he didn't expect to need glasses until he was much, much older.




Of course,  I didn't expect him to look so much older in the blink of an eye.