Treasure, Part I: That time my dad found an eyeball

This is a story about lost treasures and found treasures and treasures that were always around and no one knew were missing in the first place.

Chronologically, I’m going to begin my narrative in the middle, when my dad found the Eyeball.

When I was very young, not more than 6 years old, my family lived in a little yellow house situated on a canal in Oakland Park, Florida. The Atlantic Ocean lived just a few blocks away, and my parents and sister and I would often spend the weekends on Fort Lauderdale Beach or Dania Beach. In certain parts of South Florida, it’s possible to walk from the sand right into heavily fish-populated reefs, and it was on one of those lazy Saturday or Sunday afternoons that my dad and his dive gear did just that while the rest of us baked on the beach.

With his slingshot spear gun in hand, my dad glided weightlessly over schools of colorful fish below. When something edible -- grouper, snapper or yellowtail --happened to swim by, Dad paused his stroke and hovered motionless so as to follow its movement with his eyes before releasing the spear. Although the exact circumstances are lost to time, I like to think it was during one of these moments of extreme concentration that my dad’s eyes wandered away from our dinner and onto a speck of sparkle in the sand. He stiffened. Was that an eyeball staring up at him?!

It was an eyeball, an ocular prosthesis to be exact, and what a beauty! The iris was hazel and the milky vitreous crisscrossed with pretty pink blood vessels. Though likely constructed from acrylic plastic, the prosthesis’ convex shell had a marvelous heft and shine to it that resembled marble. It was the kind of exquisitely smooth and cool-to-the-touch object a toddler can’t resist popping into his mouth and rolling across his tongue. 

But how did the Eyeball find its way to the ocean floor? Did a shark devour its owner, expelling all the bits and pieces, including this one undigestible nugget? My parents consulted phone books (this was before the Internet, mind you) and called every prosthesis maker in the Ft. Lauderdale area. Did they perhaps know of a patient missing an eyeball? No. My parents checked the newspapers. Any one-eyed soul missing or devoured at sea? None. So, after exhausting every conceivable avenue to uncover the Eyeball’s mysterious origins, the Winslows gave up and benevolently adopted it.

Naturally, my sister and I were fascinated by the Eyeball. We routinely positioned it atop our own working sockets, holding the orb in place with a squinty eyebrow and raised cheek to startle friends with a blank, bug-eyed stare. My family moved six times during my childhood, so Hailey and I were perpetually blessed with fresh clusters of victims – ahem, classmates -- to marvel at this “Show and Tell” showstopper. (Reflecting on these presentations many years later, I am suddenly confronted by a clarity concerning my school days status as an oddball). 

Family friend Alex Ripley models the Eyeball

When the Eyeball wasn’t dazzling our friends, it lived in a rubber band-secured jewelry box within the communal family junk drawer, a priceless treasure hidden among screwdrivers, matchsticks and twist ties. My mom’s jewelry box served as a decoy; if burglars invaded our home, the diamond earrings and gold necklaces within would surely be enough, and those bastards would leave the precious Eyeball alone. It was and still is my mom’s greatest treasure, a sacred keepsake she now stores securely in a safety deposit box among family heirloom antique jewelry. 

When it comes to Winslow Family Lore Re. Bizarre Keepsakes, the Eyeball’s story reigns supreme; its freakish allure remained unmatched and uncontested for decades. But all that changed on Nov. 4, 2014, the day my dad made yet another startling discovery and added another bizarre treasure to our family trove.

To be continued…