The news that I needed to wear glasses hit me hard. My dad wore dark rimmed glasses with very thick lenses after damaging his eyes in a childhood accident. I thought because I was his daughter I would have to wear the same kind of glasses, and I dreaded the reaction this would bring from classmates, none of whom wore glasses.

I remember telling my mom I was fine without glasses. After all, I had no trouble watching television and, besides, I could always wear sunglasses if I needed to. When she explained that my glasses would be specially designed for children, and they would be nothing like my father’s glasses, I was elated. The next week we went to Dr. Eschbach’s office on Main Street and I got a pair of little girl glasses with bright pink frames. Over the years I’ve had a lot of fashionable frames. The pussycat style frames with curved temples in the late 60’s, wire “Annie Hall” glasses in the 70’s, and glasses with huge round lenses in the 80’s, which matched my “big hair” at the time.

I had a plaid pair once, and a pair from the Brigitte Bardot collection; I’m pretty sure that don’t even make those anymore. Lately though, I’ve been less concerned about the style of frames than the corrective lenses I could order. Are these scratch resistant? Do you have something that prevents night glare?

On this latest trip to the eye doctor, I was told I need bifocals. For a split second, I wanted to tell the doctor I really didn’t need them. After all, I can see the tv just perfectly without them. Then I smiled and told him I was fine with the news and was ready to pick out my new frames. Oddly enough, the heavy black frames my dad wore are considered trendy now. So I ordered a pair and can’t wait to wear them.

Back in the sixties, few stores carried pre-packed Halloween costumes, which meant you had to come up with your own. I’d try and pick a design none of my friends would have, and make sure it was something my mom could sew without a pattern. TV characters were always a big inspiration:  one year I was Wilma Flintstone; the next year I went as Cousin It from the Addams Family.

My brother was in his early teens by the time I was old enough to go trick-or-treating, and he’d always take me around the neighborhood if I agreed to share the candy I got. Every year, one of the ladies on our block would have no idea who I was. She’d say the costume was just too good for her to tell who was begging for candy on her front porch. She’d hem and haw and make wild guesses as to my true identity. Then, when I told her who I was, she’d pretend to be shocked–as if my homemade costume had truly made me unrecognizable. I’m pretty sure she did this with all the kids who stopped by her house, but at the time it made me feel pretty special.

While it wasn’t a written law or city ordinance, it was understood that you stayed in your own neighborhood when you went trick-or-treating. My best friend, Terri, lived next to a dentist who gave out toothbrushes and tiny tubes of toothpaste. There wasn’t anything quite that exotic on my block, but sometimes the homeowners would run out of candy and hand out money instead. A handful of nickels can seem like a big deal when you’re seven.

These days, it’s rare for me to venture out on Halloween night. I’m usually at home, watching TV. This year, though, one of my co-workers is having a costume party and I already know what I’m wearing. I’m going to put on a bathrobe, put curlers in my hair and go as Ethel Mertz. I’ll let you know if Fred shows up.