Myopia has plagued my family as far back as can be traced. The family vault holds images from the end of the 1800s of women in their forties all wearing glasses. My grandparents’ 10 children and 39 grandchildren all wear glasses. My own children wear glasses. My brother went out with a girl who dumped him once she found out he wore glasses: “I don’t like any weakness,” she declared, before finding herself a job with the Humanists.
It’s likely that the weak genes of my ancestors will be eliminated at some point in the future, and if not the genes, then the people, whose corrective lenses will cost more than an armful of barbiturates; perhaps also because even with myopia, you can still be capable of seeing what is really going on.
