My Grandma has the funniest glasses ever. They make her look like an owl. Sometimes i am not sure if she doesn’t make them look owlish. There is no separating them.
Every time we come to visit, she hugs us and lifts us up. She doesn’t lift Chike up anymore. He is all grown up now. Chike doesn’t begrudge her. He thinks she smells like camphor anyways.
After all the hugs and the lifting ups, she sets us down. Lines us up and out comes the rose colored glasses. With it she peers closely at each face. She sits at her stool and peruses our faces. Like books she has read before and in which she hopes to find new meaning.
Grandma takes her time. I have always wondered what she searches for with such patience. I will ask her one day.
When she is done, she hugs us with renewed fervor. kisses and calls us pet names we blush at.
Grandma’s rose colored glasses. Morning came and she couldn’t find them. She wept and called me Chike.
‘I am not Chike’ I said.
‘Without my glasses you are all same to me. With them, I see each of you for who you are.’ She replied sadly.
I searched hard for Grandma’s glasses. In the end, Chike found them. She hugged him to her bosom and tried to lift him up. He didn’t fuss this time. I think he missed Grandma for those few days when she called him Bingo.