“No one can lie, no one can hide anything, when he looks directly into someone’s eyes.”
by Greg Hague
Stark white rims. Dark rose lenses. “Guessing Glasses,” according to Dad. “I have to guess how she feels!” Dad said.
The year the company discontinued “her style,” she bought all they had. White rims. Dark rose lenses. Mom’s guessing glasses. One day I asked, “Mom, what’s the deal with the white sunglasses? Always the same pair. You never take them off.”
She smiled, “Greg, how do you know when your dad is mad?” That’s easy, I thought. “The vein in his forehead pops out,” I replied.
“Exactly,” Mom said. “It’s a signal, right?” I nodded in agreement. I knew this well. (Pay attention. This next part is good.)
“That’s why I wear sunglasses,” Mom whispered. “What do you mean?” I asked.
Mom continued, “Your dad can’t control that vein in his head. It’s a signal. Everyone knows how he feels, what he’s thinking, whether he wants them to or not.” Interesting. I hadn’t thought about that.
“I want to control my signals. I don’t always want people
to know what I’m thinking,” Mom said.
Most people are transparent. Their eyes and voice give them away. I can control my voice. The glasses control my eyes. I only take them off when I want people to know.” Yep. I could see that. What an advantage if people can’t see into your head.
Mom continued, “Greg, keep people guessing until you’re ready to let them know. You’ll do better in life.” Mom reached up and removed those white rimmed shades. Her eyes were a signal; they gave her away. I knew how she felt about me.
I also realized who made Dad smart.