And Now, To Set His Perfect Sight On Hollywood
2004-09-21, 10:42 a.m.

Fortune for Sunday:

You are indeed a secret genius!

But of course! Wait, if it�s secret, does that mean publicly I�m viewed as an idiot? Or is this �secret� because of my hidden South Pacific lair, amassed evil forces in cryogenic stasis, arsenal of Russian nuclear castoffs, and flunkie (ahem, Personal Assistant) who worships me and does my bidding?

This reminds me, I really ought to count the warheads and resume cloning powerful world leaders. I shall do that, right after I finish painting the living room and pop by the grocery store. We�re out of milk.

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Fortune for Tuesday:

Someday, those photos will get out.

Damn. Someone found my lair.

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So, what happened to Monday?

Monday was Son�s 10th birthday. It was also the start of Son�s 3-week Fall break. Happy camper, he. Life is good.

Son accompanied me to my 8am chiropractor appointment where he began a full day of announcing that it was his birthday. After that, it was time for his return visit to the ophthalmologist, which made for one of those occasions that makes a mother want to die of embarrassment. Shall we just say that Son wanted glasses and was determined to get them?

When Son was in first grade, he wore glasses for farsightedness for most of the school year. He was absolutely adorable. Picture Opie with little round glasses. He was simply the most precious thing you had ever seen. And he knew it.

He�s had perfect vision for the past 3 years, which was reconfirmed this past summer during his yearly eye checkup. The good doc informed Son that he had �the eyes of an eagle�. Last month, however, Daughter got a new pair of frames, and Son decided that eagles must not see too well, after all. His vision went in the toilet and the yowling began. The clincher was when he flunked the routine school vision screening, scoring well under par for �near acuity�. Despite the suspicious timing of his newfound blindness, it warranted a recheck.

The bubbly assistant put Son in the big chair, handed him a card roughly the size of a billboard with correspondingly-sized lettering, and asked him to read. He couldn�t. This was said with a slathered-on helping of pitiful and five minutes of eye-rubbing. She tried the letters projected on the wall. No matter what the size, he could read off the first two rapid-fire and then be totally incapable of deciphering the third one on the row. By this time the assistant had a big grin on her face, obviously enjoying both his performance and my agony. Being the mother of a fourth grader herself, she was no stranger to the Pathetic Act. At least she was sympathetic to my plight.

Shortly thereafter the good doc came in, grinning after no doubt being apprised of the thespian in their midst. Son did not disappoint, coming through with a William-Shatner-scenery-chewing-Oscar-worthy rendition of �The Miracle Worker�. I am surprised he didn�t go so far as to pat the equipment in an attempt to �see�. He butchered the picture test; he now could not make out ANY letters; and did the eye rubs with relish. Last was the test where he was supposed to follow the doc�s pen with his eyes, while the doc held it up, down, and side to side. Son�s eyes ricocheted in exactly the opposite directions from which the doc moved his pen. After a final glance into the inner workings of Son�s eyes, the doc made his pronouncement. Son still has eagle eyes. Not only that, but if eagles could read, Son could read like an eagle. Son sighed. Doc grinned. I promised Son would send him an autograph, which will be worth big bucks in the future. Doc agreed. He also did not charge us for the visit. I guess witnessing the birth of an acting career was payment enough.

In the car, Son pronounced from the back seat that he could feel his near vision returning.

A star is born.

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