No, not the kind that warped the bridge of their noses and rubbed against their brows. Though they had that opportunity as well since they all needed them and the frames were very uncomfortable, producing bruises shaped like breasts between the tear ducts and the upper bone of the nose.
Each night, just after dinner, when they all sat in front of the television, they would take off their glasses, in a symphony, to rub the corners of their eyes or to pick off the dirt that accumulated in the spaces between the lenses and the frames.
The father would take off his round, wire bifocals and place it on the wooden coffee table, striking a dull note. Then he would move his tongue over his teeth as he pressed the temples of his slanted forehead. The mother, not long after, would remove her oversized plastic spectacles and, holding in each hand the stem, would click them together like garden shears.
The son would take off his Buddy Holly frame and would forget to put them back on unless reminded. He wanted contact lenses. He thought it would improve his appearance and his grades in English. He didn't mind the blur of the television, until his father would say "Oy, bulag" and he knew he had to stop squinting and soon put the glasses back on.
The mother would then herself replace the frame on her nose, rubbing its red bridge one last time, then sit straight up on the couch. The father would do the same, not long after. Finally, the son would sigh and sit quietly, comfortably between the smooth bodies of his parents.
No. The kind of glass they broke often was stacked in the cupboards: dinner plates, salad plates, bowls of all kinds, matching cups and saucers, tumblers, wine goblets, lo-balls and hi-balls and shots. Of many colors and many shapes. No porcelain or melamine. They would break them, spot-free and freshly dried, after dinner. But most satisfying was when they tossed them against the wall when they discussed their future plans. Their plans were many.
Soon, the inventory of glass outgrew the kitchen, the family acquiring more than they could break. As a project, they learned to build cupboards and shelving at the local adult school. No wall was empty nor dark, as the glass were showcased with tracklights. When they walked around the house, they had multiple selves following them.
The word around the middle class neighborhood of mostly immigrants was that the family measured their intelligence by the accumulated broken glass, which were quickly emptied into and piled up in one corner of the backyard. The neighbors greatly admired them for their cleanliness and insight.
©1995 Severino Profeta Reyes