Blurred Lines: The Plight of the Glasses-Wearer

Yeah, yeah, I know. First world problems and all that. There are people in this world who suffer far greater fates than a foggy lens. And those subjects are better tackled by writers exponentially more intelligent than I. But me? I wear glasses. It’s what I know. And it’s a lifestyle marred with overlooked inconveniences and comical setbacks. Because of a medical condition, I am not able to wear contact lenses. Bear that in mind while reading this piece.

There are times when I’m out in public, at a bar, coffee shop, etc. when some stranger rubs me the wrong way and I have to bite my tongue. Because my insurance won’t pay for a new pair of frames should I get punched in the face. And with my astigmatism it’d be like putting a down payment on a small car.

Aside from the obvious setbacks that come along with the lifestyle, here are some situations where it’s nearly unbearable to be a glasses-wearer.

Picking out a Halloween costume

Dressing up like a goon and collecting candy bars cemented October 31^st as my favorite day of the year as a kid. But every year it was the same, tired problem. Which costume can I pull off despite my glasses being on my face? Elvis Costello? Buddy Holly? The cast of “Revenge of the Nerds?” None were attractive options for a 9-year-old already being pushed into lockers. I instead opted for the horror genre. And to be clear, my Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees years were marred with intermittent pouting as I strolled down Maplewood Ave. in hopes of looking like a prolific murderer, instead looking like a hockey goalie who ran out of disposable contact lenses before the game.

Having a beach/pool day

There is no embarrassment-free option here. Either you wear your glasses/prescription sunglasses into the water and walk around with water spots on them all day (or risk losing them in the ocean, which I’ve done) or you leave them with your clothes and towel, hoping you don’t drown or miss the diving board.

Watching TV in  bed

In the first house we owned after my wife and I got married, the only practical place we could position the television in the bedroom was to the left of the bed on top of the dresser. This meant, of course, that in order to watch it, we’d need to lay on our sides and rest our cheeks on the pillows. Now, take a pair of frames and try accomplishing this with glasses on. Eventually, we decided that Jay Leno wasn’t worth the frustration and bailed on the TV entirely.

 Playing ANY sport

Basketball, baseball, ultimate Frisbee, air hockey…if you can think of it, I have probably had my glasses knocked off my face playing it. And inevitably, I wind up looking like Kurt Rambis (not a good thing, ever).

The incomparable Mr. Rambis

Being on webcam

Every time I appear on a webcam, the producer asks me to remove my glasses, as the light from my computer screen reflects off of them, making it almost impossible to see my eyes. But when I take my glasses off, not only can I not see my notes, but I can’t focus on a single thing and end up looking, quite literally, blind to the viewers. Not a good look for me.

Pillow fights
 I know this is random, but you’re at a serious disadvantage in any fight as a glasses-wearer, and that goes double for pillow fights.

Doing anything in the sexual realm

You start making out and your lenses immediately steam up and/or become an obstruction. So you take them off. Then you spend the rest of the sex squinting to make sure you’re grabbing for the right things and that you’re even with the right person. Subsequently, glasses-wearers are 15 times more likely to accidentally cheat on their spouses with a vacuum cleaner.

Having your picture taken

Everyone wants me to be remembered in photographs as a non-glasses-wearer. I know this because I can’t be in front of a camera without being shamed into taking mine off.  “Hey, do you mind taking your glasses off?” “Joe, take those babies off. You know the drill!” But this is part of my face, a distinguishing characteristic of my appearance. It’d be like asking Cindy Crawford to remove that mole on her cheek. You know the one. Kindly place it into your pocket and put it back later, Cindy. This next shot’s going on Facebook!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go look for my glasses that inevitably will be sitting on top of my head.

Follow me on Twitter @JoeDeProspero or email me at jdeprospero@gmail.com. 

Getting Kicked Out of Class...a Good Thing?

Last night, Sonia and I met with the boys' teachers for parent conferences. The principal sat in on these meetings. Antonio had recently gotten into trouble for being disruptive during one of the class lessons. He was flat out ejected from the room. It wasn't anything serious, just a silly kid being a silly kid. But still, I wasn't looking forward to this being brought up during the conference, knowing I might get defensive and look like "that parent" who defends his child's crappy behavior.

The principal caught me completely off guard with her response to it...

As Antonio's teacher gingerly brought it up, my heart beat a little faster. Then, out of nowhere, the principal interjected...

"Good for him," she said with a grin. "It's one thing if you're constantly getting in trouble, but if you've never been thrown out of a room before, I would think you're being too passive. And you're not pushing boundaries. Besides, it's how you learn lessons."

While this certainly fit in perfectly with the narrative I'd already created in my head about how I didn't think this one incident "was a big deal," it was refreshing to hear someone in her position recognize the upside of an act normally so identified with "bad."

It immediately took me back to the one time I was tossed from class. I was a Junior in high school, and the gym teacher was a massive douchebag. Everyone knew it. But on that particular day, I wasn't willing to tolerate it. He was condescending with me, so I gave it right back to him. The entire class laughed at his expense; he was far from pleased. I was sent to the office and spoke with the Vice Principal, who, without saying so, made it clear to me that he was painfully aware of said gym teacher's douchebaggery. I was given one day of detention and placed in a different class for the remainder of the semester. Considering it was the only time I was ever ousted, my parents were fine with it. Apparently, they too subscribed to the good principal's theory on the passive student.

Here's hoping Antonio's days of being thrown out like Wally Backman are few and far between. But truth be told, I'd rather he was a hard-working student who crossed boundaries once in a while than the wallflower who never tried anything different.

Follow me on Twitter @JoeDeProspero.

What I Want My Kids to Know About Selfies

This blog has nothing to do with my children. But I'm trying to shoe-horn them in here because this is still technically a parenting blog.

Anyway, this is what I want my kids (and pretty much everyone on the planet) to know about selfies.


Just fucking stop. It's enough. You are surrounded by able-bodied humans who can help. Introduce yourself to them and learn the power of socialization.

Sorry, but I get very JJ Watt about selfies. For starters, they are absurdly stupid. I have never once looked at one and thought, "Awwww, Cute selfie!" I tend to think, "Well, there's someone with awkwardly short arms who needs a friend." People who routinely take pictures of themselves are usually the same people who don't wipe the pee off the toilet seat. There's a connection there somewhere.

The problem I have with this trend is two-fold.

For one, it's just flat out ego-maniacal. It says to the world, "I need to take a picture of myself, and I simply can't be bothered waiting for a friend to take it for me." Nobody needs a daily reminder of your face. Unless you're growing the world's longest beard. That's the one exception. Or potentially if you're obscenely attractive. You're probably not. Don't worry, neither am I. 

But also, this speaks to a much larger problem in our culture. We're becoming so consumed with social media, we've forgotten entirely how to be social. When I see two dolts posing in front of an outstretched arm, I walk up to them and ask if they'd like help. In fact, i insist on it. Because a picture is an opportunity to do more than plaster your image on Instagram. It's an excuse to meet the person standing next to you. Unfortunately, it's also an opportunity to prove you're a self-centered ignoramus. 


The choice is ours.

And because I know at least one of you will bring this up...there was a dark day in my history when even I succumbed to the pressure...but I was a much younger, sillier man back then...

The next time you're thinking of taking one yourself, remember how fucking ridiculous I look in this picture from 2011.


Follow me on Twitter @JoeDeProspero.

The Moment You Realize You're About to Be a Parent...Again

Apparently, maintaining active blogs for both Parents Magazine and Huffington Post isn't enough responsibility for me. So, I've decided to resurrect my original parent blog, mostly for short-form content I either have very little material for, or don't think is good enough for Parents Mag or HuffPo. I hope you're ready for some brief mediocrity!

Earlier this year, my wife and I found out we were expecting our third child. Well, she found out first. Women always do. Then they pick the perfect, most sentimental way to scare the ever-loving shit out of you. That same week, we found out that my cousin, Christina was expecting her first child. Two pregnant ladies! Their due dates were within a day of each other. It was pretty adorable. See below.

 I know you're already envisioning that scene in Father of the Bride Part 2 where Steve Martin is racing between the two delivery rooms. Not that that would happen here, because it'd be really strange and creepy if I was present for the birthing of my cousin's baby. But still, it's a convenient reference. It wasn't meant to be, though. Christina's water broke on December 26th, nearly two months early. There was obvious concern, but the baby is doing fine. I know because we visited him on New Year's Day.

Baby Daniel lay there in that little clear plastic purgatory they put preemies in. His turkey-like legs refusing to go straight, his eyes puffy and practically unpeelable. He was perfect, and the joy in the room was palpable, for the newly branded mom and dad. That's when it hit me. I gazed over at Sonia's belly and realized, "There is a baby of exactly the size of baby Daniel in there. And she's currently plotting the demise of my social life and credit score."

I feel like I go through this mental exercise whenever Sonia is pregnant. But a new baby is a new baby. They keep you up at night, they spit on you. They are like villainous frat brothers. They have no relent. No remorse. So I started asking myself if I had gas in the tank. Could I go back to the 3 a.m. feedings and making sure she doesn't suffocate in her own blanket? Could we still manage to get out every once in a while to catch a movie or just to speak to one another without interruption? I mean, probably not. We'll both likely need to be committed. It's inevitable. But still..after knowing that any order that existed in our home is likely on its last legs...after knowing that my blood pressure is likely going to shoot up higher than a nervous bomb tester...I still want to love this baby with everything I have. And I will. And if I'm lucky, when the time comes, she'll feed me and wipe my butt when I need it, too,

I can do this.

I probably can't do this.

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