When I was four, I asked for glasses for my birthday. As I sat in front of my whole family, elated that it was a celebration all! about! me!, what I was mostly excited about was the presents. And, I prepared myself to open the most epic present of all time. As soon as I was allowed, I ripped the paper off of the case, and, as I cracked it open, was thrilled to see the large, bright red frames before me.
Hurriedly, I put them on and grinned at the requisite oohs and ahhs spoken by those around me. And, like a bird with a freshly caught worm, excitedly ran into the other room. My parents shouted behind me, "where are you going!?" After a minute, I came back, plopped down on the sofa, and cracked open a copy of one of my older brother's chapter books.
It was only moments later when my face became sullen and I fell completely silent that my parents understood: I thought that all I needed to read were glasses. And all I wanted for my birthday was to read.
Ahh, the innocence of youth.
