I’ve lost count of the number of articles that I have written regarding Ti Ti’s request for a picture of me. Several months ago, she simply requested a picture of her Papa Al. One may have been sufficient for my granddaughter but not for her doting grandfather.

This essay concerns two photos of me when I was around six months old. The first one is a not-so-happy picture. I was in a playpen, but I wanted out. Hence, I wasn’t a happy camper.

I have no idea where I was being held captive. It wasn’t in my backyard of where I spent WWII. My dad was in the South Pacific, and my mother and I lived with her parents in Merchantville, NJ.

The other photo is of my grandparents' backyard. I was in my rocking chair and happy as a lark. Apparently, I was telling the on-lookers about being delighted.

Those two photos are of me, but they also are about everyone. This essay is a metaphor regarding the quality of life. Children enter their brave new world very driven. They push themselves to walk and talk. They also push the boundaries by rivaling their parent’s rules. We all wanted to be the captain of our ship. In the first photo, I am in my playpen. Today, we call it being in timeout. I didn’t like failing to be the captain of my ship as a six-month-old. My mother had instigated a maternal coup d'état, and I lost.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote the poem, O Ship of State, in 1849. Just over a century later, I stood before Mrs. Davis and recited the first part of that poem. Back then, it was merely a poem, but I buy into Longfellow’s message six decades later.

Longfellow’s poem is about America, but it can be viewed as words that encourage individuals. It has done that for me. Our parents have corralled all of us in our initial step on our yellow brick roads of life. Even Nancy Nurenberg, the most intelligent student I knew and my senior prom date, surely tried to rebel during her journey.

However, as we grow older into adulthood, we tend to be less driven. Therein lies the problem. Many on their journey to being a man or a woman give up. They think it isn’t worth the pain. That flaw limits many on the journey on their yellow brick road. In my eight-decade journey, I buy into what Ben Franklin penned, “There are no gains without pains.”

A few weeks ago, I complained to my eye doctor about not seeing well when writing on my computer. I added that I don’t use my computer glasses because they didn’t help. He looked at the last time I had gotten a new prescription. It had been over five years. I left the office with two prescriptions: one for computer glasses and one for regular glasses. He added that I should get the computer classes first.

Off I went to where I got my computer glasses with the script and the old computer glasses in my hand. I gave the gal at the front desk the script and the computer glasses and said, “I need new lenses.” I was leaving when the gal said they had to check my eyes. Hmmm. I just saw my eye doctor. There I sat for twenty minutes. Finally, the tech came out with a folder and asked questions. The first was whether I wanted bifocals.

I must have looked bewildered and uttered, “I don’t want bifocals on my computer glasses.” The tech said there must have been a mistake and returned to a back room. Ten minutes later, she returned. I had to put my computer glasses on and stare at her as she took a magic marker and dotted the lens to line up with my pupil.

As she wrote things down on my chart, I noticed that the two dots on the glasses were not even close to each other on each lens. I asked why there was such a difference in the locations of each lens. She assured me that pupils are different with all people. I still wasn’t reacting.

Finally, I got up and went to the front desk, where I was told it would be about three weeks before the glasses were ready. Finally, the pain was too much. I asked for my glasses and script back and left. I need to become more involved and proactive.

I went to another place and will have my computer glasses in a week.