I never thought about it until now, but every manager I’ve worked for since college has worn eyeglasses.
Pablo, my boss at Instron; Jack, the newspaper editor; Ranch and Dan, the successive Cabinet secretaries who I reported to on Beacon Hill; and now John, the mayor here.
They’ve all worn glasses, whether 24/7 or for reading or computer work.
The only exception was Christian, the slim man a few years older than me who I reported to for two months in 2001 in California. But I was hired sight unseen for that dot.com job, just two telephone interviews, so it’s no surprise I never saw glasses on him.
Dad wore glasses. At some point, he bought contact lenses but I remember him wearing glasses more on than off. The pattern of my bosses, all similar family men with glasses, strikes a chord with me as to maybe that’s why I admire and respect my bosses so much. Which makes it all the more bittersweet that my managers seem to come and go (or, rather it’s me coming and going) as illusions for the memory of Dad.