I was standing at the back of a line of kids, waiting to board the bus.
I was accompanied by no one except Erik, my fifth-grade brother. He was standing at the front of the school-bus line with his fifth-grade friends when one of them turned to me...
Hey, Eclipse Boy, how many fingers am I holding up?
I had no idea what that kid meant. As we mounted onto the bus, Erik and his friends laughed about the joke. I realized that for some reason, the big kids were calling me Eclipse Boy now.
The fact is we did have an eclipse that summer, around 3 weeks before school started. From that, Erik started telling everyone this story:
The reason for the Coke-bottle glasses on my eyes was that I had stared at the sun, unprotected, during that eclipse.
The story puzzled me then, and it puzzles me now. I do not remember doing any such thing.
And yet, when I search through our family photos, I can see that I never wore glasses of any kind before that summer. But right after the eclipse, I was wearing these thick lenses I now call my regular glasses.