|
|
Nicole, Not Helen!Dec 26 '08 (Updated Jul 04 '10) Write an essay on this topic.The Bottom Line In which the author teaches a lifetime's worth of experience in a mere few paragraphs. Like That! "So, class, what is the opposite of up?" I knew the answer; actually, I could not fathom why my first-grade instructor was reviewing opposites once again. Of course, the opposite of "up" was "down"! Even so, I didn't answer. I was too busy thinking about how badly I needed a rest room. Could I possibly wait until school was dismissed, I asked myself. At six, I dreaded entering the girls' rest room at that large elementary school. Why, sixth-grade girls and other "big kids" laughed at you if you were different. Alas! There was nothing for it. After asking for permission to vacate the premises on my unwilling errand, I stole away to the bathroom. I was almost ready to wash my hands when THEY came--the "big kids" I had so dreaded. One of the girls, seeing me approach the sink and place my cane in a corner, grabbed my hands and immediately began to speak to me in a voice commonly used when communicating with toddlers. Placing my right hand on a water faucet, she said, "This is COLD." Then, taking the other hand, Miss Motherly said quietly yet sternly, "And this is hot, HOT, HOT! If you touch it, you'll get hurt. You don't want to touch the hot water.” My first impulse was to reclaim my hands from that alien grasp, exclaim indignantly that I knew about hot water, and flee the rest room without washing. Depending on my mood, I admit I did participate in this sort of ungrateful display. Now, though, I took a deep breath and said as politely as my raging temper and six-year-old instincts could muster, "Thank you, but I can do this myself." Then, gently extricating myself from the girl's grasp, I continued washing--in cold water. Meanwhile, other girls were entering the bathroom and whispering among themselves. The whispering was what I hated most. I could hear every piercing word. Finally, in a tone of mingled curiosity and disgust, one young student approached me directly. "How did you get like that?" she asked, uncomfortable with designating my disability. I grabbed my cane and walked rapidly toward the door. Just before reaching it, I turned and replied, "I didn't eat enough carrots when I was a baby.” Looking back, I can understand my schoolmates' discomfort, curiosity, and eagerness to assist. Although I often wish that people could be regarded as individuals rather than as "disabled", I see the value of education on such subjects. As a person who has been totally blind since birth, I have experienced a great deal of awkwardness on this subject. Then, too, I have been presented with a plethora of questions regarding my abilities, perceptions, and even philosophy. I am seen alternatively as a hero or as an invalid, as a gift or a nuisance. In truth, I hope to be neither; I am an average person, with typical emotions--if a bit more sensitive, typical aspirations, and only a few eccentricities--most of which lie in the way of cheese. Eventually, I hope to develop a Web site devoted to sonnets on the subject of Swiss. Oh, wait a minute! That would involve the use of mathematical principles, so I shall have to simply petition for the creation of such a site. I generally refrain from speaking about my blindness because, quite frankly, I find the topic boring. I am not in the least ashamed; yet, why would one speak of an external such as a disability when she could discuss the physiological effects of harp music? However, I have been considering this editorial almost since I joined Epinions. It is my hope that this article will answer some of the questions that I have been asked about blindness and how it has effected my life. Comments and questions are welcome; if I haven't included something here, feel free to ask. There is no need to worry about offending me; trust me, I have heard it all before. *Question: “I’ll bet you enjoy this sort of thing.” See above. Actually, don’t see above. This question deserves a bit more elaboration. In nearly every sociology, philosophy, or English class in which I was ever enrolled, I was encouraged to discuss my visual impairment throughout the duration of the course. At one point, I was even asked to make it the subject of several messages I gave during weekly chapel services. When you figure out a connection between cane use and the book of John, please let me know. Really, I find the topic somewhat tedious. It’s not what consumes my day. Please get to know me, not my talking watch. *Question: “But I don’t know what to say.” How about, “Nice weather we’ve been having.”? Too often, people remark that they wouldn’t know how to approach me or anyone else with a isability, so they don’t. This results in isolation and reduced self-esteem. If you don’t know what to say, saying something is far better than ignoring a person. You never know—approaching someone may result in a friendship that you would have lacked otherwise. *Question: “OK! HI, NICOLE!!!! I WANT TO ASK YOU SOME QUESTIONS!!!!!!!!!!” Hello, dear reader. Could you please lower your voice a bit? I am totally blind, but I can hear you quite well. Also, there’s no reason to exaggerate your speech. Don’t you realize that your making a spectacle of yourself? Now, let’s enjoy a nice, civilized, quiet conversation—with a cup of tea. Question: "So, how do you write on Epinions, anyway? I mean, you can't see the screen.” I read in a British accent. No, dear reader, I have never been privileged enough to inhabit Great Britain; when speaking to my family, I do not communicate my content in the Queen's English. Rather, I enjoy the use of a program that reads all text onscreen. The program, called JAWS® for Windows®, can be customized to read in a British accent. JAWS®, by the way, stands theoretically for "Job Access with Speech". This is a misnomer, for JAWS® can do far more than access employment. Personally, I believe that the program was called "JAWS®" because it can be terribly verbose. On those few occasions when I have used Instant Messenger, JAWS® has insisted on reading the entire conversation each and every time a new message was sent or received. Question: "So, you listen to JAWS® read, and then you talk into a microphone? Is that how you write?” Certainly not! If I dictated my work to a computer, semicolons would become tangled with commas. Ellipses would dot my writing, and punctuation would follow American rather than British customs. (Putting a punctuation mark outside of quotation marks is so much more elegant than confining it within, wouldn't you say?) Throwing punctuation to the breeze would be simply tragic. Anyway, the program to which you are likely referring is known as Dragon Naturally Speaking. Although I do not doubt its usefulness in others' lives, I prefer old-fashioned typing to any form of dictation. Question: "But how can you type if you can't see the keys?” Memorization, my dear reader, memorization. Although Braille keyboards do exist, I truly have no need for them. While other grade-schoolers practiced penmanship, I was expected to learn to type at least forty words per minute. Although this has certainly increased now that I spend much of my day writing, memorization was not optional for me. *Question: “How does JAWS® pronounce small nuances of written communication—smilies, italics, etc.?” This question was actually posed by Epinions member Sleeper54 and was among the most intelligent I have ever received. Although I can program JAWS® to signal the appearance of an emoticon, I have chosen to do this with only the most common smiley. Each time the familiar colon and right parenthesis appear, JAWS makes a sound reminiscent of a camera shutter. Say “cheese”! As for italics, bolding, underlining, font size and color, etc., there is no way to denote shifts in appearance as JAWS® is reading data. There does exist a command to make JAWS® announce the font, but I use it only in Microsoft Word. Now, do you want to assist the visually-impaired community? Of course, you do. Learn the difference between the words “then” and “than”. “Then” denotes the next step in a sequence of events, while “than” is used for purposes of comparison. I am not being a grammatic fanatic by presenting this lesson; confusing these words causes JAWS® to read off-key, if you will. So, too, with failing to capitalize the pronoun “I.” If you write, “i never knew any of this,” I will realize that you never read the entire editorial. JAWS reads such pronouns in a bleak monotone that consistently makes me wonder whether there might be any way to feed my computer antidepressants. Through a USB port, perhaps? Question: "Now, what is that Braille you were talking about? Isn't that a lot of dots, like a foreign language?” Well, I would be proud if Braille were a foreign language, for then I should be trilingual. However, Braille was actually invented by a Frenchman named Louis Braille. (Brownie points if you can pronounce his name with a flawless French accent!) Anyway, Braille discovered that dots were easier to comprehend than were large, raised-print letters. Braille, then, does consist of dots; however, it is not simply "a game for the blind", as many seem to believe. It is a form of communication as valid as print. Speaking of which, I read Grade II Braille. No, this does not mean that I read on a second-grade level--though, if I did, perhaps I would get more enjoyment out of the pulpy material I am forced to read on occasion. Braille takes up so much space that it was necessary to develop a form of shorthand. The resulting symbols, known as contractions, play a small yet significant role in reducing the sheer bulk of a Braille book. To write the word "children", for example, one need only write "chn". "Still" is contracted "st"; "also" becomes "al"; and "little" condenses itself to become "ll". Uncontracted Braille is known as Grade I, while fully contracted Braille is called Grade II. So, then, the fact that I know Grade II Braille is simply an elaborate way of saying that I am literate! *Question: “What do you do if the books you want to read aren’t in Braille, electronic, or audio formats?” I whine about the prolipheration of abridged titles that seem to have swept society into their nepharious grasp. Somehow, all of the books I would like to read happen to be available only in an abridged edition. This does not allow me to make decisions about what to read. Happily, a solution has been found. I can now scan nearly any book using OpenBook®, a program that interfaces with nearly any flatbed scanner and converts material to audible, electronic text. Lesson: The natural sound of bird calls is not the most beautiful in the world. ‘Tis the sound of scanning that truly evokes enthusiasm. Question: "So, you can type, read and write Braille, and use sign language. That's amazing!" What, what, what? I know precisely four signs: those for Christian, Jesus, Protestant, and Bible. Now, interesting as those subjects are to me, I scarcely feel that I could carry on a conversation with only those four. I might require the use of articles, adjectives, adverbs, verbs, and the occasional preposition. However, the Sign-Language Assumption seems to be one of the most prevalent I have ever encountered. On several occasions, strangers have approached me, taken my hand, and spoken in a steady stream of constant, entirely incomprehensible signs. I am blind, but I am not deaf. There is no need to speak loudly or slowly to a person with a visual impairment; certainly, not all visually-impaired people know sign language. Question: "Just from talking to you, I can tell that you're such an inspiration--just like Helen Keller." My name is Nicole, not Helen. I was born in the state of Washington, not Alabama. I was blind from birth, whereas Ms. Keller became both deaf and blind at the age of two. With the exception of preschool, I was mainstreamed; Helen Keller attended the Perkins Institute for the Blind. I am an independent thinker with no companion or caregiver; Helen shared her fame with Anne Sullivan. I am a Conservative Republican; Helen Keller was a Socialist. Now, then, how were you saying that we were alike? In all seriousness, though, I wonder how many blind men are compared to Ray Charles. I do not resemble Helen Keller in any way; if I must be compared with a woman who happened to be blind, I should like to be compared to Ms. Fanny Crosby. A celebrated poet, Crosby penned several thousand hymns, played a number of instruments, and gave all she had to the poor. She was a woman after my heart, for ‘tis from her that I have adopted that lovely quotation, "I loathe, abhor, it makes me sick to hear the word "arithmetic"!” Question: "You said that Fanny Crosby played a number of instruments. How many instruments do you play?” I do not play an instrument; I am an instrument. I hope to be an instrument of service, of love, and of joy. However, a common misconception seems to be the idea that, because I am blind, I either play numerous instruments or sing beautifully. While I do not sing off-key, I consider my voice average. As for learning an instrument, I actually attempted to learn the harp once, but I was entirely incompatible with my instructor. Anyone who, before having the slightest inclination of your appearance, inquires as to whether your fingers are too large to play the harp, cannot possibly be compatible. Moreover, Braille music is very difficult to read. Imagine a conglomeration of French letters with accent marks, some mathematical symbols, and a random 3. This might be the first few notes of a song. So, then, though I appreciate music, I do not conform to the "blind stereotype"; I neither sing nor play an instrument. Sorry! Question: "But I'm sure your hearing is amazing. You probably hear better than anyone else I know." My hearing is average; my listening is very good. You see, hearing is a physical process that one cannot alter. Listening, on the other hand, is a psychological process. People believe that I hear better because I concentrate more on what is being said. However, my listening skills may be traced more to my personality than to my visual impairment. Question: "Speaking of personality, what does a blind person like to do for fun?" Let me ask you this: What does a sighted person like to do for fun? Ah, but you cannot answer that--unless, of course, you have become entirely absorbed by generic culture. Dearest reader, say it isn’t so! I have friends who like to ski, others who enjoy hiking, and still others who consider engineering a sport. I have an acquaintance who enjoys fantasy fiction, while others I know prefer realism. My visually-impaired friends enjoy various styles of music, recreational activities, etc. We are people first, people with disabilities thirty-sixth. * One very interesting exception lies with milk. Since earliest childhood, I have abhored drinking any variety save chocolate. As time went on, I gradually discovered a pattern so profound that I eventually conducted an informal survey. Each time I became close enough to another blind or visually-impaired person to make such inquiries, I asked casually, “Do you like milk?” The answer was a universal and resounding no. Hmm. Does it look tastier than it is? Question: "So, you're all different. Okay, Nicole, what's your favorite movie? Oh! I shouldn't have said that! Never mind. I'm such an idiot.” Wait one moment! Your question was fine; I wish that you had not been so embarrassed about asking it. First, a visually-impaired person "looks", "sees", and "watches" a number of things. I see that a day is beautiful when I feel the wondrous warmth of the sunshine; I look at new objects to determine their use; and I frequently watch shows with my family. The only difference lies in the senses I use. Avoiding these terms only causes discomfort, particularly when the questioner then appears embarrassed. Embarrassment is far more disconcerting to me than is the question itself, which was not bad in the first place. By the way, my favorite movie is The Sound of Music. The one word that does make me both uncomfortable and angry is the word "just" when used in a visual context. If I am at a play and the audience suddenly begins to laugh, I may inquire of a friend as to the reason. If my friend replies, "It's just a clown", I feel denigrated and humiliated. The word "Just" indicates: "This knowledge is beyond you and not worth your time or my while." When one considers it in that light, the word becomes very hurtful. Question: "If we ever met in person, would you want to feel my face to see what I looked like?" I can recall one and only one time when I ever felt a person's face. I was seven years old and sitting in what seemed to me a long church service. Come to think of it, I should have been in Sunday school, but that is neither here nor there. I was having difficulty understanding the pastor's message, so I was in search of a diversion. For some reason, my father's face caught my attention, so I examined it in every detail. Although I came away with the idea that my father was a very handsome man, I never had any desire to reenact this to/for anyone else. Why? Because it’s personal, that’s why! When I meet someone new, I take note of his tone, dialect, and voice qualities so that I may use them as identifiers in the future. I notice speed, pitch, any accent, diction, etc. Far more important, however, is a person's heart. What you look like truly does not matter to me because I want to get to know you, not your skin or clothes. I’m not just saying that; I use very specific personality characteristics when recalling people to memory. Question: "So, I guess colors don't mean very much to you either." Quite on the contrary. When I was younger, I learned to connect certain motifs with most colors. White, for example, has always represented purity. Purple is a color of royalty and, on a lightsome note, I was once informed that orange could represent excitement or something very loud. Pink was gentleness and softness, depending on the shade. Brown was something rich and textured, wood, or coffee. (Did you know that, these days, coffee forms its own motif, depending on whether it comes from Starbucks?) Anyway, when I was very young, my mother made a book that represented each color in a tactile format. For black, she glued on dirt; for tan, she provided a swatch of leather; etc. One amusing little anecdote before I leave the subject of color. When creating the book, my mother informed me that gray was akin to rough fabric and encouraged me to select a fabric that I considered particularly distasteful. I did not choose sandpaper or burlap; I chose the fabric on my parents' sofa. (Although I lived in the house, I refuse to this day to indicate that I ever had any part in that sofa!) Anyway, we had already owned the "hideous" sofa for many years. My parents had chosen it because it blended nicely with their theme. Only after I pointed out to them how terribly rough it was did they even realize it. I write this because it is interesting to see the ways in which perceptions differ. My parents saw an attractive sofa, whereas I saw something that must never even be touched. I recall with slight embarrassment the numerous times that my childhood self would accost guests as soon as they arrived at our house: “You want to sit on that recliner between the two sofas. Those sofas are rough, and we must all boycott them! Don’t you think so?” And on it went... Question: "You said that you listen for a person's accent and pitch. You must memorize a lot of voices." Do you memorize every face you see? I hear a great many people speak daily; I memorize about ten percent of these. Once, a woman introduced herself to me when I worked out regularly at the local gym. Several months later, she came up to me and simply said, "Hi!" When I inquired as to whom I was speaking, the woman was indignant, asking why I did not recognize her voice immediately. During the twelve-week interim, I had probably encountered at least an hundred women who sounded exactly like her. No, your voice will not remain forever in my memory if I have only met you once. I reserve that honor for friends and loved-ones. *Question: “Are women’s voices easier to understand than men’s?” This is certainly among the most interesting queries I have ever encountered, for it was made only once. Women’s voices are not easier to understand, but they are more distinctive. I can’t quite explain the reason for this, but if I’m going to commit your voice to memory, you’d better be a woman—unless, of course, you’re either a very unique or a highly-respected man. Question: "Since you're blind-I mean, visually-impaired, sight-challenged, sight-impaired, visually-challenged, differently-abled, gifted in hearing, sightless, unable to see, differently-sighted, oh! What do you say, anyway?" All right, I actually invented the last few adjectives, but I am sure that you understand my point. Many people do not know what the politically-correct adjective is. While perspectives on this vary, I can emphatically say that "sightless" is unacceptable. In general, members of the blind community prefer to be designated as either "blind" or "visually-impaired". However, "visually-impaired" indicates the presence of some vision, whereas "blind" indicates the presence of no functional sight. When describing a member of the blind community, it is always preferable to describe "a person who is blind" rather than "a blind person". In any case, polysyllabic, newly-invented terms only serve to confuse and frequently cause more discomfort than they are worth. Question: "How do you get around? You use that stick thing, don't you?" Now, first let us establish something. A stick is what you cut while on an intense hiking trail. A cane is a long, usually white, metal navigational tool. A stick thing? I’m not sure. Is that a long branch with nameless doodads hanging off of it--like a Christmas tree branch adorned with some sort of unusual ornament? Now that we have established that I use a cane and not a stick, I use the cane to find obstacles that may be in my path. I do not count steps mentally, and I do not use a system of echo location-like clicking. I am not a bat! Question: "What can I do to help you?" I have one response and only one: Juice box. Oh? What's that? You'd like a little more clarification? Picky, picky! Once, I had arranged to meet an acquaintance over breakfast. As soon as we were seated, I reached for my orange juice with the intent of opening it. "Oh, let me help." Without awaiting a response, my acquaintance took the juice from me, unscrewed the cap, and complacently passed me the beverage. This was all well and good, until I decided that I had had enough of the juice. However, since I had not opened it, I had no idea as to where the cap might be. I had to search the table in increasing humiliation while attempting to maintain a cheerful, divertingdemeanor. The moral to this story is that people with disabilities will request assistance if they need it. Resist the urge to help, even if you see something being done differently than you might have done it. If, for example, you see a person with a cane walking close to a wall and appearing lost, offer to assist but accept a "no". The cane traveler may be taking a roundabout route to his destination; does everyone always have to take the most direct route? I thought not. Question: "But sweetie, I want to help. What can I do, honey darling?" Now, is that the way you speak to a grown adult? Surely not, but I'm an exception. Endearments of that calibre ought only to be used with a child under seven or with a very close relation. Enough said. Question: "Let me take your cane and put it over there." Ereht revo. Ereh revo. Now, if I continually wrote words backward, they would be entirely incomprehensible to you and rather off-putting. "Over there", "over here", "this", "that", "these", and "those" are vagueries that simply float about, awaiting an explanation that is generally not forthcoming. Rather than using such ambiguities, use more intricate phrasing. For example: "There is a chair directly behind you. May I put your cane to the right of it?" On the same note, do not move or touch the personal effects of a person with any disability without first asking permission. This is important for two reasons: first, if you move something while I am unaware, how will I find it again? Moreover, touching someone or something is an invasion of personal space. If you were dining with the President, would you casually reach forward and spear some of his asparagus with your fork? One more thought, and then this portion of my rant will be ended. There is no need to touch me above and beyond the ways in which you might touch anyone else. Particularly irksome are those individuals who pat me on the head. Laura Bridgman may have considered this some form of approbation, but it has taken on the status of a demeaning gesture. I am not a dog requesting a biscuit; if I were, I would be wearing a collar instead of a necklace! *Question: “Nikki, let me ask your friend a question. [Pointing at me.] Would she like a cookie?” First of all, that probably isn’t a “dear little friend” you just addressed, but my sister. She and I will both be offended if you speak to her rather than communicating with me. When communicating with any person with disabilities, please speak to them. And yes, I would like a cookie. Oatmeal raisin would be nice... Question: "Do you ever cry?" Oh, my! Often, I wish I wept a bit les; however, strong emotion and high sensitivity run in my family. Many people believe that, because I cannot see, I must have no capacity for tears. Let me clear it up by employing an analogy. I have what is known as bilateral retinal detachment. My retinas are detached, so I receive no visual stimulus. If you unplugged a telephone cord, the telephone and the cord would still exist as separate entities. The telephone would still have a cradle and a receiver, and the receiver would still be marked with numbers. Similarly, I still have tear ducts, eyelids, etc. Like everyone else, I am able to cry, open my eyes in the morning, close them at night, etc. Question: "Do you dream?" Good question! I do dream and, just as I do not see when awake, I generally do not dream that I have sight. I shan't say that it has never happened, for sometimes I dream that I can see glorious things. However, mundane dreams usually do not consist of color. I dream about the same things any other person may dream of--course work, relations with friends, the family dog... Question: "Speaking of dogs, what is your guide dog's name?" Jerry, if I had one--Jerry for Jeremiah! However, this is a gross misconception. Many will be familiar with a song from Veggie Tales entitled simply "The Water Buffalo Song". In it, Larry the Cucumber suggests that all people own water buffalos, until he is told in no uncertain terms that everybody does not have a water buffalo. Similarly, not all visually-impaired people own guide dogs for economic or health reasons. Question: "Was it hard for you to learn to talk?" Whyever would stringing together a series of phonemes be so very difficult? A good friend actually posed this inquiry when we first met, assuming that children must watch their parents' faces in order to learn the art of speech. In reality, I spoke on time and learned new words quickly. Being quite a perfectionist, my first word was not "mama" or "dada", but "Albertson's"! Question: "I'll bet that, if you could see, you wouldn't talk so proper." First and foremost, the word is "properly". I am an English major; I was born, bred, and raised a linguist. My loathing for grammatical laziness has little to do with my visual impairment and a great deal to do with my personality. True, if I could see, I would have been exposed to more Slanguage than I currently must endure. However, this is by no means an indication that I would emulate such speech. Not all slogans on posters and billboards must be imitated, you know. *Question: “What about clothes? I’ll bet you don’t care how you look.” Not so! I do care what image I project; I simply choose to project an unconventional image. I do realize that other women find jeans comfortable, wear makeup, and keep their hair much shorter. However, this style does not reflect my personality. Dresses portray the sort of Nicolic pseudo-Victorianism that I find intriguing; I keep my hair long for faith-based reasons; and I don’t wear makeup because I want people to know who I really am, not who society wants me to be. No, I’m not a Nazarene; some of those dresses are short, and most of that hair isn’t in a bun! I’m actually Nondenominational, if you’re curious—or, as the case may be, Churchless. The search for a worship center continues... That said, there does exist one non-negotiable. This lies with my fingernails, which do have much to do with my visual impairment. I keep my fingernails trimmed almost to nonexistence so they will not be in the way. Long fingernails inhibit Braille reading, typing, and other activities. Think of it: If your eyelashes grew at a constant rate and obstructed your vision every few weeks, would you not trim them, regardless of how stylish others found them? Question: "It must be very sad for you, living in a black world all the time.” According to scientific principles, darkness exists in the absence of light. If, then, I see no light, my world must be dark. However, this is not the way that I conceive of life. My world is not dark, miserable, bleak, or desolate; it is simply my world. It is not claustrophobic or fearsome, and I do not feel benighted. *Question: “You’re so courageous. I don’t know how I could do it if I were you...” Blindness is among the most feared disabilities, but it shouldn’t be. I’m not courageous; I’m just a normal person who happens to be visually-impaired. Actually, treating people with disabilities as if they have achieved heroic heights simply for existing may be taken is rather offensive. *Question: “I’ve heard that there are many organizations for the blind. Which one do you belong to?” My dear reader, pardon your preposition. Actually, I am not affiliated with any organization for the blind. The National Federation of the Blind (NFB) makes me very uncomfortable, for its ideology stresses independence at the cost of both health and family relations. The American Counsel of the Blind (ACB) fosters a philosophy similar to my own, but there are no chapters in this area. So, I am currently free of any affiliation. *Question: “What did you think of the school for the blind?” I thought it taught its students many independent living skills, but failed to focus on the students’ academic achievements. Of course, all of this is heresay, since I never attended. Actually, most members of the blind community are now mainstreamed. I was, and I loved it—except, that is, for recess. *Question: “If you were able to have your retina healed with adult stem cells so that you could see, would you have the operation? Would you be too scared to do it or not interested?” This question came from the delightful mind of Epinions member Jankp. I ask you one question: Would you not willingly accept the opportunity to see rainbows, sunsets, and the glorious mountains? To see color and enjoy a smile, to make eye contact with friends and highlight in one’s own Bible—is this not the essence of poetics? I hereby toss trepidation to the wind. Question: "How do you do things? Like, how do you get dressed?" Well, I never thought that I should be required to place an instruction manual on Epinions--particularly one that dealt with linens. Nevertheless, gentle reader, I shall make a valiant attempt. I awake in the morning, push back the covers, stand up, put one foot in front of another, approach my closet, select a blouse and a nice skirt... In short, I dress as anyone else might. I identify things by touch. Here’s an exercise you can try. When you go to bed, lie in the dark for a moment and think about your body. Do you find yourself thinking, “Oh, no! Where are my feet? I can’t see them, so they’re not attached to my legs anymore!”? So, then, I know how to dress, to prepare a meal, to type, etc. Questions of this nature seem to be timeless, for Fanny Crosby was asked them in her day, too. While attending the Perkins Institute for the Blind, Ms. Crosby was visited by a group of prestigious congressmen. One individual, upon inquiring as to how the blind were able to feed themselves, received something akin to the following response: "We take a string and tie one end to the table leg and the other end to a spoon. We then proceed to walk the food up to our mouths." The congressman believed her! To what is the world coming? Question: "You've mentioned Fanny Crosby several times. Now, she was a hymn-writer, and you obviously admire her. That must mean that you're a Christian. How has your blindness affected your relationship with God?" Yes, I am a Christian; no, my visual impairment cannot "explain away" my faith. I have known many individuals who believe that I have become more devout through "challenges" and "struggles"-in short, that my visual impairment renders me either a better or a more needy Christian. I am not a Christian because I am blind. I am a Christian for one pure, simple reason--one that a child could comprehend: Jesus loves me. This is the faith by which I define myself. I would like to be defined as a Christian first, a poet second, and a person who is blind ten thousandth. Speaking of which, I seldom mention my visual impairment directly in my prayers. Sometimes, I speak of it in relation to God's plan for me, but my prayers do not consist of long, self-pitying solilloquies. I am not ashamed of the fact; even if I were, God made me as I am. I fail to mention it because I have more important matters about which to talk to God--matters of joy and peace, praying about others' sorrows, etc. Question: "What Bible story inspires you the most-the one about Jesus healing the blind man?" For those who are not quite certain as to which passage I am alluding, it may be found in John Chapter IX. I do treasure the miracle of Jesus healing a man born blind, but I treasure every miracle that Jesus ever provided. Actually, the account that fills me with the most joy is that of Christ's resurrection. Many assume that I am constantly pining for what I do not have. Surely, they surmise, I read the healing story with particular longing and sing in piteous tones "Open the Eyes of My Heart" and "Open My Eyes, That I May See". In truth, the latter is one of my favorite hymns; however, I sing it because of its essence--not "heal me physically and now, Lord", but "allow me to understand Your Word". There is a difference between the eyes of one's heart and the eyes of one's body. Question: "Will you ever, ever stop rambling?" Likely not, but I shall make my first of several efforts by closing this piece for the night. I understand that my list of questions and answers was by no means exhaustive, so I would be happy to answer further inquiries and delighted to receive any feedback you may have. Now, then, ‘tis off to bed I go, where no fear of learning sign language shall assail me-at least for tonight.  |
| Read all comments (28)|Write your own comment |
in Books