20/20 HINDSIGHT

I THINK MY EYEBALLS COULD BE PUT TO BETTER USE

I have a confession — I have a small crush on my eye doctor.

I started going to Dr. Carl Quimby in Nashua in the mid-1980s when I was a gawky teen. He is now in his mid-80s, but I still look forward to seeing him once or twice a year. We have a chat, and he always asks interesting questions. I enjoy our time together.

At my last appointment, Dr. Quimby asked me how I was faring during the “quarantine,” and what activities I was doing as they would relate to eyewear and prescription concerns.

He asked if I was doing a lot of reading. I had to tell him that I was not. Were you a big reader as a child? he inquired. Oh yes, I replied. Our earlier conversation had led us to reminiscing about a local artist, Maurice Easter. Dr. Quimby asked me if I did any art now. I again had to answer with a no.

My eyesight concerns were all about being able to hold my phone a foot away from my face, while I scroll incessantly through Facebook, or look at a laptop, or slightly further away at a TV. No art, no reading.

I was embarrassed, but also sad. Art and reading were precious to me as a kid. I loved drawing. I read all the beloved childhood books that you can think of — the “Little House on the Prairie” series, Nancy Drew hardcovers, “Ramona the Pest,” “The Secret Garden.” Art and reading came together in the copious comic books my father would bring home for me — saturated images of Betty and Veronica, Archie and Jughead.

What was the last book I finished as an adult? I really had to think about it. I started Mary Shelley‘s “Frankenstein” on its 100th anniversary, but put it down and forgot about it.

For Christmas, I purchased every book in the Harry Potter series hoping my 14-year-old would put down her phone and start reading them. None have been cracked open. My original boxed set of dog-eared Little House books remains in my closet, perhaps until I have grandchildren. All the art supplies I’ve provided her are long abandoned.

I do wonder what my daughter will feel nostalgic about. Technology pastimes feel cold. They don’t seem like they can leave an imprint on your heart. Sure, I fondly recall some of the old arcade games, but is my kid gonna well up when someone mentions Roblox someday? Will she have any tangible objects to hold from her youth – something she drew, something she read?

My phone is glued to my hand just as much as anyone wants to deride teens for doing the same. Maybe it’s time I picked up a book or a pencil. I’ll have some great new eyeglasses.

Kathleen Palmer is an award-winning editor and journalist, marketing/communications content writer and occasional comedic actress. She is a single mom to a teenager, so naturally she enjoys a glass of wine, or two.