The Blindlady's Blog
Welcome to Shelley's Blog, probably not your typical blog but we think it's interesting. This blog will touch on a variety of subjects and life-experiences that don't necessarily have to do with anyone's visual acuity.
9/29/07
A Word About Prejudice
Yesterday,
I heard an ad on the radio about bigotry. I've heard lots of them, but this one
really got my attention because it depicted people with prejudices against white
people. Prejudice takes place in all cultures, nut just mine, but we’re often
blamed for it.
I
wouldn't be surprised if I get some anger mail from some who read this, but that
would only serve to further illustrate my point. I'm not perfect and I'm
ignorant on some things. It hurts me any time I see someone being persecuted
because of whatever it is that makes them different, but I am sick and tired of being accused of racism just
because I blow it and say or do the wrong thing.
A
few years back now, we attended a small, multi-cultural church that I thought
was well-integrated, but there were times I felt like I was getting the cold
shoulder from some people because of some apparent offenses I committed.
It
started with a Christmas play we produced about Scrooge from the prospective of
a tight-knit black neighborhood. Someone got upset because the portrayal of the
scrooge character as a boy used the wrong phraseology. The boy's Aunt quoted his
father. (Mind you, this was a scene from the early 20th century.)
"That's my boy, your father say, tears in his eyes. That's my boy in the
best colored school in the whole USA."
Someone
got upset because I, playing the part of the Aunt actually used the word
"colored." UNTHINKABLE!--I guess. I was really hurt. I didn't hear it
from the offended people themselves, but from someone else. This person dropped
out of the play's cast because of this. Afterward, it seemed like people
expected me to offend them again, assuming whenever I said something that I’m
“not supposed to say” that I was racist. It’s like Pollyanna said in the
Disney movie, “If you look for the bad in people expecting to find it, you
surely will.”
It's
amazing to me how terms come in and out of style. It's like there's a whole list
of things we're not supposed to say, even if we are portraying an African
American. I suspect that in a few years, just saying "black" isn't
going to be acceptable. Personally, I never have been comfortable using the word
black. It sounds a little harsh and tainted with negative attitudes that
some white people still have.
Why
is this happening when I have tried so hard to communicate love to everyone?
Someone help me out here. This was the 1920s. Wasn't that term used in
the 1920s? Can't I be historical without hurting someone's feelings or offending
their sensibilities?
Then,
there was the time we were taking prayer requests. My son, who by the way is
African, was in Eastern Europe desperately trying to find a job. I had requested
prayer. I said, "People in Ukraine won't hire blacks." A lady whom I
know by name basically yelled at me saying she was offended and that she didn't
want to hear another word of it. I was crushed. I was talking about my son and
what he was facing. Apparently, I didn't have the right to do that.
I
suppose I could have couched it in better terms, but I thought I was among
friends. I thought this wasn't an issue and I thought it was a good idea to
speak out against prejudices and pray for such situations. I know there are
white people who think black people shouldn’t say they feel sorry for white
people. What’s the difference? Who decides who gets to say what?
I
think the core problem here is this movement in our country that no one should
ever be offended. The more unwritten rules they make, the worse it gets and most
people seem to be easier and easier to offend. It doesn't bother me if someone
calls me "Whitie" or "Honky", so what's the problem? I am
not saying it's acceptable to refer to one-another in derogatory terms, but
we've gone too far the other way to the point that it’s counter-productive.
This
kind of attitude is only going to further alienate people from one-another and
further damage the rift a lot of us dearly want to repair. There are white
people who use this too-easily-offended phenomena to justify their own racism,
"See, you can't say anything to these people or they get all upset."
Would it have offended Rosa Parks if she heard me use the word
"colored?" Would it have offended Martin Luther King?
I
sealed my own social coffin when I sang a Christmas song I wrote about 3 years
ago. It was written from the perspective of a young slave and her cynical father
who tells her that Santa Clause is only for white children and that he
"doesn't like our kind", The song implied that if Santa understood
what slavery was, that he would visit this man's children on Christmas Eve but
that Santa was actually prejudiced. This is what the father believed anyway.
The
little girl prays for Santa to come because her mother told her God isn't
prejudiced, that in His eyes, she was like any other child. Of course, Santa
comes through, loading her front step with toys and candy for her to distribute
to the other slave children. I made the horrible mistake of singing this song at
our Christmas service. I almost ran out of the building when I finished. I could
feel the icy tension in the air. I had no idea what I had gotten myself into
until it was too late. I sang that song with tears in my eyes because I know my
friends are still looked down upon by many, but I can’t talk about it.
I
was so frustrated because I loved these people I attended church and
fellowshipped with. I thought we were a family. I thought we felt safe with
one-another. Are we not supposed to remember the awful scourge of slavery? Are
we not supposed to expose the damage it did--especially to children--and
acknowledge that a lot of healing still needs to take place?
Am
I supposed to walk around on eggshells in front of my African-American friends?
Excuse me, but this is racism against me. Some of my relatives are from the
South and there are similarities between white Southern culture and black
culture. They eat many of the same foods and when I played the black Aunt in the
story, I was talking a lot like my Great-Grandmother did.
Incidentally,
there are plenty of whites in the South that face discrimination. Ever heard of
"white trash?" The truth is that people who practice bigotry don't
like anyone who isn't just like them and there is classism among
African-Americans in the South. I think a lot could be accomplished if
people in the South rose up against terrorist organizations such as the KKK. It
is a messed-up cycle there that is terribly hard to break, especially if no one
has enough courage to face these people down.
Booker
T. Washington said, "If men will lynch a black man, they will eventually
lynch a white man."
The
only way we're ever going to get this issue resolved is when it ceases to be an
issue. If I am only supposed to do or say certain things--and the rules keep
changing--how are we going to establish common ground. If people feel they have
to walk on eggshells, they're not going to be comfortable with the idea of
friendship. I am all for doing my best to bless others and not curse them in any
way, but I think this is all getting just a little extreme.
I was in the music store one day, being waited on by an employee there who happened to be black. While we were standing at the counter, two black youths entered the store. They were being a little rough with the equipment on display. When the man helping me adressed them, one of them said,"Man, you're so white." I've also heard that some young African-Americans look down upon their friends who obey the rules in school and get good grades. They consider this "white" also.
Really now: If I'm understand this correctly, doing good, respecting others and getting good grades is unacceptable to some people of color. I thought they wanted equality. Do they want people to think that black people should be seen as trouble-makers and lacking in intelligence? I thought this kind of thinking needed to be turned around. If I told one of these youths he was being "black" because he's doing what he knows is wrong, would I not be displaying a racist attitude? I'd probably never hear the end of it. Sometimes, I want to throw up my hands and say, "Dear God! what on earth do these people want?"
Many
people in this country experience prejudice, Hispanic people, deaf
people, short people, old people. The list is endless. I have a dear friend from
the south who talks with a decided drawl. She tells me, and I've seen it--that
people assume she's slow because of the way she talks. This woman is probably
more intelligent than I am, possessing a world of knowledge about a wide variety
of subjects, but she is passed off as a stupid hick.
Then
there was my roommate in college. She was a recent immigrant from Viet Nam. Her
parents expected her to bring home straight As. She was up for several nights in
a row working on a term paper, going over every word with a dictionary in hand
to make sure everything was perfect—and it was. In fact, it was too perfect.
Her professor, who was supposed to be a Christian told her she cheated and had
someone else write the paper because, “You’re not capable of this caliber of
work.” Though he said it was a paper worthy of an “A”, he wasn’t going
to give her one because she cheated. Now if that’s not oppression, I don’t
know what is.
If
you want to see oppression, spend a week with an obese person. Those people are
some of the most discriminated-against people I know. You wouldn't dare tell a
black joke in public, but it's perfectly alright to tell "fat" jokes
right in front of obese people. Do you have to buy 2 plane tickets when you
travel? No, but obese people do. Can you imagine what would happen if black
people or any other ethnic group had to buy two plane tickets? There would be an
outcry the likes of which has never been seen--and rightly so.
Obesity
is considered a disability in this country, but obese people are the only ones
who are not offered appropriate accommodations. If you occupy two seats on the
bus, you don’t have to pay two fares.
The
most common excuse for demeaning obese people is that they brought it on
themselves by overeating. Well, then guys who break their necks skiing
shouldn't get disability benefits either. After all, they chose to be reckless.
People who fry their livers with alcohol shouldn't get liver transplants if this
logic applies.
People
are prejudiced against me in some cases, but it's not going to ruin my day or my
self-esteem. They sit there and talk about me as if I can’t hear them and you
won’t believe some of the things they say to my face. If someone doesn't want
to hire me because I'm blind, I assure you, I don't want to work there. I don't
want to be where people cannot muster enough maturity to accept me. I think
prejudice is a sign of immaturity.
I've
been kicked out of restaurants, denied taxi service and forced to take a room in
the smoking section of a hotel because of my Seeing Eye dog, We were once thrown
out of a B&B Inn, but you'll never hear about that on the news because of
the color of my skin--or lack thereof. I'm about a white as they come.
A
lot of people need to change their attitudes. I believe there's a lot of racism
that needs to end, but it's far from one-sided. If we really want to advance
civil rights in this country, it's going to happen a lot quicker when people
feel comfortable with one-another and no longer have to worry about using one of
those off-limit words or phrases.
I
have a niece who is of Jamaican heritage. When I've talked to her about these
issues, she cannot understand why people are getting all upset over words.
When I'm watching a movie with her where stereotypes and racism are portrayed, I
point them out to her and explain why they are racist.
We
were watching a Shirley Temple movie where a scene was played by
Step-&-Fetch-It, a well-known black actor of that day. The role was very
demeaning. I said, "Here, they're making it look like black people are
stupid and clumsy. It's not very nice at all and I don't like that it's in this
movie. They did this a lot back then."
I
think these things should be acknowledged for what they are when she sees them.
I want her to know that she should always be respected and not looked down upon
because of her heritage. I suppose people would say my niece isn't bothered by
this because she is growing up in white culture.
So,
should we drill into her all these ideas that are causing so much difficulty? or
should she be able to grow up confident and secure in who she is and not have
her social life run by all these rules. Is it not unreasonable to communicate to
her that she should expect to never be offended?
Should
I teach her to be angry and bitter at the words some well-meaning people use?
Should I put her self-image in jeopardy so that she can be properly
indoctrinated and think as some elements of society believe she should think? Is
this going to help her achieve success in life? Is it a good idea for her
to learn to be suspect of every white person she meets?
Should
she learn to be offended when I say that in Ukraine, they won't hire people of
your ethnicity? or should she see it as a blight we need to do something about
by setting a good and loving example instead of spending all our energy making
sure no one ever gets offended over anything. Pretty soon, no one's going to be
able to say anything to anybody. We are going backward, not forward, when this
mindset prevails.
Should
we fill my niece's head with all this stuff so her African-American friends
won't accuse her of being "White" because these things don't get in
her way? Sometimes, it almost seems like people want to stay oppressed or
continue to see themselves as such. Then, they have something to be angry about.
And someone please explain to me, why are African-Americans talking about black
gangs shooting one-another and trying to put a stop to it? It should be just as
outrageous for a black person to kill another as it is for a white person to
kill a black person. It’s all hate, no matter who the perpetrator is.
My
niece is 11 years old. She loves the Christmas song I wrote. She's learned the
thing by heart and sees nothing wrong with singing it. I told her I could not
sing it. I told her what happened when I did. This made her very sad for my
sake. She can sing it, but I can't. Even though we are relatives, she walks in a
different set of rules than I do. Brothers, this should not be.
See
now: if the world was run by blind people, the skin thing wouldn't be an issue
at all. My good friend Johnny Greene--who is he African-American, often said,
"It's not the skin that's the problem. It's the SIN!" Johnny lived
with us for nearly three years and in all that time this was never an issue. I
think that is partly because he knows my heart, accepts me as his sister in
Christ and he is very secure in who he is. I've never had to worry about doing
or saying the wrong thing in his presence. That is because his security is in
Christ, not in whether or not he's ever offended. He loves Jesus and he loves
people and the rest of it really doesn't matter to him.
9/24/07
On Depression
Yesterday I went to the "doctor." That's what everybody calls him. When you have a back problem, you see an Orthapedist. When you have a stomach problem, you go to the G.I. specialist. When you're having a baby, you regularly see an OB.GYN, When you have a bad case of flu, you see the family Physician, but when you have chronic depression, you go see "the doctor."
Once I arrived at "the doctor's" a little early and was standiing out in the hall, waiting for them to open the office.
A gentleman came out of a suite across the hall from my doctor and said, "Gee, I don't even know what they do in there." The sign on the door says, "Cascade Internal Medecine." I guess that if you put "Psychatrist" on the door, half your patitnts will chicken out and ditch their appointments. I have mental images of people sneaking up the elevator, down the hall, jumping behind those big hosptial trash bins on wheels when someone is approaching and lurking around the corner until the coast is clear to run into the doctor's office, breathing a sigh of relief.
The typical mind-set concerning psychatry is really unfortunate and we must lay part of the blame at the feet of those who think a Psychatrist" should be at the most, a last resort. I must say that at first, I wasn't wild about it myself. I also found out that if you're in the hosptial because of a mental health issue, no one comes right out and says it. People are less likely to visit you during your stay. I don't know if they think it's contageous or if some freaky person with matted hair, abnormally-long fingernails, foaming at the mouth is going to come along and attack them.
Me, I tend to be a blabber-mouth because about this disorder I have because I think it should be talked about. There are a lot of people out there who never get treated and spend their lives in much more misery than if they had sought help. Some of the most successful people in history had depression, Abraham Linclon, Charles Spergon, Fanny Crosby, (a very prolific hymn-writer) Steve Martin, the Apostle Paul and James Roberson, (A well-known evangelsit. Obviously, Christians are not exempt.
Mental-health issues still have a uncomfortable stigma. Treatment sure beats being sick, but a lot of people are ashamed because of the attitudes of those who do not udnerstand what is really happening. A lot of people don't believe me when I tell them I have chronic depression.
"But you're so happy most of the time and you sing and you're always creating something. I can't imagine you depressed."
It is possible to have depression and still laugh.
Depression runs in my family and since I got just about every mutation in the family gene pool, of course, I wound up with it. Actually, it was years before I was finally disagnosed in 1984. I was 24 years old. It started when I was about 9 years old. Before that, I was plagued with insomnia. Back then, children "didn't" have mental health issues. My depression developed in the course of my parents' divorce and it got worse as I got older. Everyone thought I was just lazy because I didn't do homework. What I couldn't get across to them was that I couldn't concentrate long enough to remember what I had just read.
The one thing I regret about being born back then was that I went for years knowing something was wrong with me, but I couldn't figure out what. Today, good doctors and other professionals keep an eye out for symptoms in the children they care for, especially if the child is having a difficult home or school life.
When I was finally diagnosed by a physician that had the disorder himself, it was like a new lease on life. I was against taking medications, but that didn't last long as I got better almost immediately and I experienced strange new things such as sleeping through the night, being able to consentrate and no longer having bouts of severe fatigue or inexplicable crying spells.
People don't realize that serious depression is not mental at its core. It is physical, with symptoms that may include nausia, loss of appetite, severe headaches, trembling, diareeah, loss of coordination, irritability and tiredness. You know it's bad when you don't even want chocolate ice cream because the thought of going down to the freezer to get it seems too difficult.
So often, loved-ones just don't understand that the person suffering can't "just snap out of it." No one wants to "snap out of it" more than the person who is suffering and they'd give anything to overcome it. That ladies and gentlemen, is why depressed people commit suicide. I told my "doctor" that I felt like someone was holding me under water and I culdn't breath and would do anything to break the sufrace, including stepping in front of a Mac truck.
Recently, I got back in the hapit of going to the health club. I do 20 minutes on the treadmill or the elyptical trainer to get my heart going. Then I do about another 20 minutes of light weight lifting to build up a little stamina. I feel pretty well most of the time, but this is a real boost. When I exercise, I have more energy, less anxiety. I sleep much better and I wake up feeling rested withoug that overwhelmed feeling that sometimes plagues me, especially in the morning.
So, when I saw my Internal Medicine guy yesterday, I asked him, "Do you ever prescribe exercise for people who have depression?"
His answer,
"I used to, but I quit because I couldn't talk anyone into doing it. Out of hundreds of patients, I think only one actually tried it."
I told him he ought to feel a little freer to nag them a little as they would probably feel much better. It doesn't just make you feel better physically, it adds a sense of accomplishment.
I'm no diabetic, but it appears ot me that living with depression is sort of like living with Diabetis. You have to be careful of a few things such as excessive stress, neglecting treatments such as medication or being too idle without any direction. For some folks with depression, even their diet effects them. I am never going to be completely free of symptoms, but when I follow the doctor's orders, I generally feel pretty well most of the time.
I neglected to tell him one thing. One of the best things I can do when I'm having difficult symptoms is to do something for someone else. It gets my eyes off myself. Depression can really put me in a state where I become too self-obsorbed and create for myself, a viscous cycle. Another theraputic activity is laughter. They say Norman Cousins literally cured himself of a severe illness by laughing. You don't have to explore this website very far to discover I have a quirky sense of humor that I exercise on a regular basis. It isn't just something I like to express. It helps keep me well.
Another thing that helps some is dressing up really nice. When I have to go somewhere and don't feel like going, that's what I usually do.
When I was in the hospital for my disorder, a bunch of us were chatting one evening. Someone got on the subject of immitating others. So, one guy got up and imitated some movie character. To his delight, it got quite a few laughs. I don't know exactly why, but I started doing my Barney routine.
"Oh GOODY! I just love being stuck in this hospital with nice friends like yyyyyyyou!" (I can't stand Barney)
People were doubled over laughing. So was I. Then this lady got up and started acting like some Brittish snobby lady. One of the nurses came along to see what was so funny and they begged me to imitate Barney again. After everyone recovered, the nurse said, "This is what I love about this job. I see people come in here feeling really bad. They start getting treatment and a little rest and I see their true selves come out and the next thing you know, they're laughing and having a great time and you can tell they're feeling alot better."
Now, going into the hospital for this wasn't easy, but I was in a situation where I didn't have anymore options. I simply was not stable enough to be alone. llFortunately, I had once visited a friend who was hospitalized in a good mental health unit. It was a warm nad friendly place full of people who could be one's neighbors or co-workers, just ordinary folks. I asked to go to this particular hospital and I can honestly say it was a pleasant experience.
I met all kinds of people there from every walk of life. It was reassuring to know I wasn't alone, that all kinds of people could struggle with the same thing I had. It was also great to know that mental health units aren't just for people who need to be locked up somewhere. In our unit, you were free to up and leave if you wished. Of course, they wanted you to sign papers first, stating you were advised not to leave, but no one would stop you from just up and leaving the building.
My mother came ot visit one afternoon, bringing my 7-year-old niece with her. My niece couldn't figure out what was going on. This was a hospital, but no one was in bed, wearing a gown, wearing a cast or toting an IV pole. Finally, she looked at me and asked, "How come you're in the hospital but you're up and dressed and everything?" What do you tell children about this kind of thing? I said, "My brain hurts and the doctors are helping it stop hurting."
I'd say that's deperession in a nutshell. In many cases, it is a disorder of the brain NOT the mind. There is a difference. The mind is the sum total of feelings and thought processes. The brain is where those processes come from. Fix the brain and you can greatly inprove the thoughts. Some people get depressed or have other issues because of drinking or drug abuse, but a lot of folks just have the disorder because their nervous system doesn't produce enough of the right chemicals.
My niece asked me further questions over time. She was staying with us one day when she happened to find me meating out my morning medications. When she asked what they were for, I explained to her,
"There is a disease called Depression. It makes you sad all the time, makes you so you can't eat and you throw up or you can't sleep. It makes your body weak and it makes you feel so sick and so bad that you want to die. some people have something wrong with their brains that makes this happen. My medications fix my brain so that won't continue."
It's very hard for people who haven't experienced something like this to understand those who have. I'd encourage the reader that perhaps, the best thing may be not to try to understand, but just accepr me as I am and be there for me, I'm someone who happens to be ill at the moment and you can't expect me to jump up and feel better anymore than you could expect someone with a broken back to just get out of bed and dance. If you can accept the fact that this is simply a disease like any other medical condition and not blame me, that can go a long way toward helping me feel better. The thing I need most is permission to have these difficulties without criticism, which is only likely to further compound the problem. A lot of people who have depression feel guilty, like they're to blame. I know I have, but you wouldn't barrage someone because they had a heart attack or cancer.
Historically, it is especially bad for a Christian to have a disorcer like Depression or Bi-Polar Disorder. Some Chrsitians are the least accepting of all, although public understanding is improving. Some believers think they can lay hands on someone and cast whatever demon causing the problem out. Of course, that rarely works and only serves to produce more self-blame. All it does is put further pressure on the victim to mascarade, cover up their symptoms and not talk to anyone about it.
While in the hospital, I overheard a young patient and his father talking. It went something like this;
"Can't you make more effort here to get yourself well. This is costing us alot of money."
"Dad, did you come here to visit me or make me feel worse?"
I was very sad for this young man, but glad to hear him standing up for himself.
We are sometimes told that depression is caused by sin. Well, if that's the case, everyone should have depression because everyone sins. That just does not compute. Christians should be supporiting, not "fixing" their loved-ones who desparately need a little acceptance and a lot of suppport.
My dear husband said, "I don't understand all this, but I'm here for you." That was all I needed to hear.
So, while we're on the subject, some people don't know what a mental health hospital unit is like. If you'd like to read more about this subject, CLICK HERE
1/24/08
Reflections:
It struck me as odd, the way some people
responded to the prospect of my upcoming marriage to Paul. The organist at
church for example, “Oh, isn’t that wonderful. Now he can take care of
you.”
I wanted to throw up. I said, “No, that’s not
why we’re getting married. We are because we believe God has brought us
together.”
What is this that people think I need taking care
of when honestly, I could run circles around most of them any day. I’d love to
see one of them travel 30 or 40 miles on city buses, changing buses two or three
times. If the weather didn’t get them, the confusion would. And how about
shopping while you can only make out about half the labels on the food? And I
can do this, though it takes longer than asking for help.
Biblically, spouses are to care for one-another.
We are called to be equal. “Well, why did you take the bus to church? Can’t
Paul drive you?”
Of course he can drive me, but he’s my husband,
not my chauffer. Out of respect, I don’t ask him to drive me somewhere unless
I have to.
I love it when the “Shuttle” (our local name
for the city’s paratransit) pulls up to my house and the driver is stunned
that I live there. A lady on the Shuttle once asked me if my mother lived there.
Apparently, blind people can’t afford nice houses.
I once had a lady ask me if I had someone to
dress me in the morning. I said, “Yes, I have a lady come in. She helps me go
to the bathroom too.”
Then there was the woman on the elevator where I
once rented an apartment, “You are partially-sighted,. Aren’t you?” When I
answered yes, she came back with, “I thought so. You dress to nicely to be
blind.”
I’ve come to the conclusion that people are
either still amazingly ignorant, they just don’t think or there’s some
agency somewhere putting out literature that teaches we’re helpless and have
the scourge of all mankind. It’s like it’s so terrible to be blind or
visually-impaired. I’d much rather be blind than stupid.
It’s all relative, I suppose. I was watching a
documentary on TV about morbidly obese people, a far more serious disability
than mine. I can came and go as I please. People think I’m reasonably
attractive. They’ll talk to me and many will ask some very worthy questions.
The people in that documentary couldn’t even leave their beds. Getting the to
a hospital was a major undertaking that included an ambulance designed for large
animals, while I think about the worst thing that eve happened to me was when I
stepped smack into someone’s freshly-lost cookies.
I slid and nearly fell in it. (This was
pre-dog.” Here’s a dozen or more people standing there while I’m trying to
nonchalantly scrape the stuff off my shoe by dragging it up and down the
sidewalk, stifling gags, praying I won’t have to add to it. I don’t know how
those people kept from laughing. Here I am, arms flailing in a desperate attempt
to stay on my feet, gagging like crazy, eyes wide. It really was quite funny.
Well, I think it is anyway.
If they’d realized, of course, that I was
blind, six of tem would have rushed in to rescue me and said helpful things
like, “You just stepped in vomit.” Well, I know good and well I stepped in
vomit and didn’t need anyone to tell me thus.
One of the things that really drove me nuts when
I got my first dog was all the people rushing ahead of me, rearranging the world
so I didn’t have to stumble over a pebble or some other threatening object. It
happened so frequently that my dog took to stopping to wait for them to move the
upcoming obstacle. Half the time, they held us up with their environment-fixing
and I missed a bus more than once because of these would-be do-gooders.
Certainly, they mean well and you fellow
blind-mates all know the age-old problem, the fact that people see us as
sub-normal and in need of rescue.
I was walking down the street once and came upon
a group of engineers, surveying a construction site. They saw me coming and
quickly stepped into the street. Talk about overkill. I asked them to return to
their places, explaining that I needed this opportunity to let my dog work out
the problem. They stepped back on the sidewalk, teetering on the curb. I said,
“That’s not where you were, now come on.”
Some of them snickered. I must have really
shocked and embarrassed them and I suppose I should have left well enough alone.
I get so weary of these people who are certain I’m heading for trouble because
of some obstacle ahead. They were good sports and I think they were pleased to
see that I knew exactly what I was talking about. I thanked them heartily.
The fact is that the average sighted person
misses things I can see plainly. This is because they aren’t being observant.
I wish I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard someone say, “Oh, I didn’t
see that.” Like the time my dog was making water and a well-meaning woman
rushed over and threw the harness over the dog’s head. Needless to say, I was
a bit alarmed and the dog wasn’t too happy about it either. She looked at me
like, “Why do you let this stuff happen?”
When I explained the situation, the woman
answered with, “Well, I thought you were having trouble with the harness.”
How she came to this conclusion, I’ll never know. I wasn’t even holding it.
I said, “Can’t you see that little yellow trickle? She’s trying to pee!”
“Oh, I didn’t see that.”
Sure; I miss things and I often need help looking
for a particular address or reading a label on a product in a store, but I’m
certainly not alone. On the whole, frankly, sighted people really aren’t much
better. I am speaking of averages. Many people are good observers. My husband is
excellent and always has been. We all do the things I have described. It’s
just that people are watching me, expecting some mishap. They believe that
we have them more often because that is exactly what they are looking for.
For all of us, we
will generally see what we expect to see. I’m just as guilty.
I think the corker has to be the bus driver who
“helped” me board the bus. When he pulled up to the stop, he put on the hand
brake, stepped out of the bus, put his hand on my back and tried to propel me
forward. When I got to the top of the stairs, I asked him to quit pushing me.
“I’m not pushing you.” He said, a little ticked off.
“Then what is your hand doing in the middle of
my back?” I asked. The other passengers snickered. That wasn’t the end of
it. The driver wanted me to sit by the door. That is where blind people are
supposed to sit and—apparantly--the land will be forever cursed if we don’t.
I slipped into a seat where I could put my
dog underneath, despite the driver’s adjitation. Once he saw that I actually
knew what I was doing, he went back to his job. An elderly man leaned over and
whispered to me. “That was very well-done honey. You should stick up for
yourself when someone treats you like that.” He chuckled at the
driver’s ignorance. It’s refreshing to know there are people out there who
understand the method to my madness.
While at college, I
often had a long wait for the Shuttle to drive me home. On one afternoon, they
were so late that I went looking for a phone to find out why. There was an
office, occupied by a lady who was somewhat acquainted with me. She always spoke
to me in that sapy voice reserved for blind people, toy poodles and
two-year-olds.
“Do you need me to dial it for you honey?”
she asked. I said “No, thank you.”
After I got off the phone, she said. “You know,
I think you do really well.”
I responded in an equally sappy tone. “Well I
think you do really well TOO.”
She never spoke to me like that again.