We just can’t get enough of those pirates. They’re hot now in the flicks and the hit exhibit at the Denver Museum of Nature & Science, which ends today.
And why not? Who can resist those hearty “arrrs” and stylish eye patches?
But it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, at least the patch part. I’ve been monocular all my life, although I passed on the patch. No matter how sexy it looks, it always rides up and musses your hair. Besides that, they attract a little too much attention, although they offer great pick-up opportunities fabricating exotic lies about how you lost your eye.
Instead, I’m a glass-eye guy. Well, actually, it’s plastic. The glass-eye term dates to the time Venetians were the Microsoft of eye-making. They dominated the trade for more than 200 years until the French and then the Germans broke the Italian monopoly with superior glass-blowing technology.
This eye has worked well for me most my life, although I’d happily trade it in for a newer model if the cost weren’t so exorbitant. This one’s a little loose, so I avoid staring into canyons.
I might even consider something flashier, literally, like one with a little LED beacon for better visibility when I’m biking. Or perhaps an American flag to wink my wide-eyed patriotism when attending Tea Party rallies.
I also like the approach of a Belgian documentary filmmaker who inserted a camera in his missing-eye socket to become an “eyeborg.” As a “human surveillance machine,” he wanted to explore whether people are “sleepwalking into an Orwellian society.” Cool but creepy.
Few even detect my phony eye unless they’re particularly observant or notice that the right lens of my glasses is opaque with crud.
My eye was removed at birth, so I never realized I was different growing up. But I found those Viewmaster toys senseless and inane. And all those 3-D films are wasted on me.
My monocularity did subject me to a fair bit of abuse at school. There was one cruel cheerleader in particular who took great joy in taunting me to take out my eye. One day in science lab, I held a towel over my eye, placed a big cats-eye marble in a water-filled beaker and presented it for her inspection. Her shrieks rattled the windows as she fled in terror. Ah, good times. Arrr!
Driving has been difficult. Every one of my wrecks has resulted from an undetected intrusion from my blind side. I literally had just exited the dealer’s lot in our first new car when I slammed hard into a curb.
Walking presents its own dangers. I must make sure to position myself to the right of fellow strollers lest I miss a turn, veer off on a tangent or walk into walls or windows.
There are no perks for the monocular. Strangely, we get no discounts on eye exams or glasses.
The only benefits are the cool association with pirates, Popeye and Sammy Davis Jr. And I can prop my eye open so it appears I’m awake while napping during dull meetings.
I once shirked, foolishly perhaps, a school counselor’s suggestion that I pursue educational grants available to those with such disabilities.
That was because I never considered myself disabled. My monocular life gives me a different world-view — literally — but it doesn’t define who I am.
There is no normal. At the risk of sounding trite, we all are special. We all have something to offer. Broadly speaking, we all carry a disability of some sort. Some can be seen. Others cannot. Some are severe, others less so.
In the big picture, most of us don’t want to be carrying around a weighty label. We just want to get on with it. Being monocular has not been that bad despite the untimely demise of several beloved vehicles — a small price to pay to be so cool. Arrr, matey!
Dan MacArthur (dnmacarthur@) is a freelance writer who lives and works in Fort Collins.
