Reflections on 70-year-old

At 70, I find myself reflecting on the younger version of me—a 12-year-old girl, desperate for love and attention, though I didn't realize it at the time. It seemed as if I was desperate, although I did not verbalize but the action taken was deliberate and it all began with a pair of eyes.

I remember sitting at the kitchen table, squinting at my homework, claiming that the letters were blurry, even when they weren’t. I insisted that I couldn't see the blackboard clearly at school. My mother, always attentive, took my complaints seriously. She scheduled an appointment with the eye doctor, and off we went.

In the sterile, white office, I sat nervously in the chair, swinging my legs back and forth as the doctor asked me to read letters from the chart on the wall. I mumbled, deliberately getting a few wrong. My heart raced, not from fear, but from the attention I was getting—my mother holding my hand, the doctor focusing solely on me.

It was during that visit that I was prescribed my first pair of glasses. I didn’t need them, but at 12, I didn’t understand the deeper reasons behind my actions. The glasses became my badge of honor, a subtle plea for the world to see me, to notice the quiet little girl who felt invisible in her own skin.

Looking back, I realize that "my eye problems" were never about my vision. They were about my heart's yearning for connection. I was a child trying to navigate the complexities of growing up, craving affirmation and the simple comfort of being seen.

I was the first child for my mother but there was no connection between my mother and me. She worked to ensure that I was cared for. But, unknowingly, she seemed to neglect me. My father was out of the equation- he was not present as a matter of fact; I did not know him. I was always alone in a tenanted yard.

As the years passed, those glasses became a symbol of a deeper truth. The glasses that I took were very thick and the pair that was given by the government free glasses program. It was not a fashionable pair so the pretense lasted for only two years!

They reminded me of the little girl who just wanted to be noticed and loved. Today, at 70, I can look back with some measure of remorse, forgiving that young version of myself for her innocent deceptions. She didn’t know any better, and in a way, she taught me an invaluable lesson about the importance of attention, love, and understanding.

Always, take time out to know your child regardless of your work. Speak words of comfort, and reassure the child. Demonstrate your love for the child as a parent. Take the child out and play with the child.

Now, as I share this story, I realize how far I’ve come. The 12-year-old girl who once fabricated a need for glasses has grown into a woman who understands the real value of being seen—not just by others, but by herself.