It was one of those typical Seattle mid-winter evenings. Drizzly rain was falling. The traffic was thick and everything on wheels hissed. I, with my dog in tow, was heading for a small shopping center—a place we had been to a hundred times. We were standing at the cross walk. Even from there, the place looked warm and inviting. I was anxious to get inside.

I was almost at the door when someone blocked my pate. Kate looked up at me, a little bewildered. The man began yelling into my ear at a deafening decibel-level.

“YOU’RE COMING TO A MALL!”

“What an astute observation.” I thought as he went on.

“THERE’S A DOOR ABOUT TEN FEET IN FRONT OF YOU!”

“Dear Lord! Do they give out Hearing-Ear dogs to people who already have Seeing Eye dogs? I’m going to need one if this keeps up.”

“THERE’S A DOOR ABOUT FIVE FEET IN FRONT OF YOU! I’M GOING TO OPEN IT!”

Just how he managed to open the door while keeping his mouth about five inches away from my ear, it’s hard to say but it was enough to make my ears bleed. It was the Reader’s Digest-version of a Guns & Roses concert.

“OKAY! THE DOOR’S OPEN NOW. YOU CAN GO IN—STRAIGHT AHEAD!”

Well, what else could I do? Leaning into HIS ear, I answered back.

“THANK YOU!!”

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BLINDNESS BLOOPERS

(Some of them are mine and some are from others.)

I had applied to get my first Seeing Eye dog back in 1992, wondering in the months that followed if this was the right thing to do. I’d go along for awhile and everything would seem alright and I’d think, “No big deal.” Then, BAM! I’d find myself on the ground or stumbling over something the size of a piano or slamming into a half-opened door.

Some people asked me if I ever used a white cane. That’s something I cannot bring myself to do. I know too many women who were raped when using their canes. I spent a lot of time alone, but I had to ask myself which is worse, looking blind or perhaps, looking stoned.

Then, about the time I thought of canceling the whole dog thing, I’d find myself in another predicament. I was on my way to my church’s Thanksgiving banquet, all dressed up. It was dark and I was making my way to the usual bus stop. There was a bunch of people there waiting for the bus and some guy among them exhibiting really bizarre behavior.

So, I was walking along and happened to venture onto the place where the crazy guy, who turned out to be quite drunk, had just spilt his cookies. I slid and nearly lost my balance, crying out and waiving my arms in the air in an effort to stay upright. Thank God, I managed to stay on my feet, but now, here I am in front of all these people, trying to look non-chalaunt while I’m pacing up and down the sidewalk dragging one foot, trying to get that awful warm stuff off my shoe while I’ve got my hand over my mouth, gagging. This guy was walking up to everyone, shouting into their faces. I thought, “If that guy gets anywhere near me, I’m going to hurl.”

Needless to say, I didn’t eat much at the banquet.

So, I went along for awhile without any mishaps until this nice-looking guy asked me directions to a specific place nearby when I plowed into a parking meter. Then one day, I went into the local department store. Located in a large building, I came upon one of several entrances. One was level with the street and the other had six steps, descending just inside the door.

I thought I had the level entrance only to discover, too late, that I didn’t. I went skiing down the steps, Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump, managing to stay on my feet, landing at the bottom looking a little sheepish, trying to act like, “Oh yeah, I do this all the time. Now that I have a dog, that kind of thing no longer happens, but the one thing I feared has resulted. I have absolutely no privacy when I go out. There’s always someone trying to micro-manage and back-seat-drive me and even the dog. Now, they’re usually the ones making blunders.

People talk about me as if I’m not there. I listened to about fifteen minutes of this conversation between two women seated behind me on the bus. I’d finally had enough, turned around and said, “I’m not deaf.” Bad as it sounds, sometimes I enjoy doing this. People sure straighten up in a hurry. I had some guy staring at me, so I winked. He moved to the back of the bus.

Before I had a dog, I was attending college. I usually waited for my ride home near an office where this particular lady worked. She had found out about my vision. I came into the office one day, asking to use the phone. She started in like she always did with that sappy tone of voice most people use to talk to infants or small animals. “Do you want me to dial for you?”

Oh, here we go again. She was forever hovering over me. Now, I was really getting sick of this. On this particular day, she said to me, after I used the phone, all by myself, “You know, I think you do really well honey.”

I turned around, smiled at her and said in an equally sappy tone, “Well, I think you do really well too.”

The next time I encountered her, it was, “Hello Shelley. How are you doing?” in a normal tone of voice. This happened with a lady from my church who drove me home one evening. When we pulled up to my house, she asked in sappy-voice, “Now do you need any help?” to which I responded,

“No thanks. I’m beyond help.”

She tried really hard not to laugh, but she couldn’t hold it back. “Shelley!” she half-shouted. The next time I saw her, she actually treated me like an adult.

Some people think I’m rude and I suppose, sometimes I am. However, It is just as rude when people treat me like I’m mentally-impaired, helpless or deaf. I had a lady following me around one afternoon. She followed me up the steps, across the mezzanine at the transit station and into an alcove where I was going to use a pay phone. She just stood there, less than two feet away, staring at me. I finally turned around and asked if she was planning to spend the afternoon with me.

“Well! You don’t have to be so rude. I was just trying to help.” Hey, for all I know, she could have been waiting for the opportunity to steal something when I wasn’t looking. When downtown alone, one can’t assume anything.

When you work a dog, the dog leads you up to a curb at the intersection. If you want to cross, you give the dog the appropriate command. If you want to turn left or right, you wait until you have reached the curb and command the dog accordingly. This might be a little slow, but it helps the dog keep from getting confused. I walked up to a crosswalk one afternoon, stopped and turned left. It was at that moment when a Man stopped and called to me. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“Oh,” I said, “and just which way should I be going?” Then he realized he had just stuck his foot in his mouth and apologized.

Then there was the guy who was walking just ahead of me one morning. He was staring at me and my dog to the point that he was practically walking backward. I had sun glasses on at the time. I stopped, lifted them up, looked him in the eye and said, “Can I help you?”

He got all flustered. “Oh, um, I’m sorry but, um, is that one of those—you know—one of those—I thought it was one of those dogs for blind people?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t look blind.”

So, I assumed the posture of someone groping their way down the sidewalk, one hand out and the other arm protecting my head. “Okay, how’s this?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, you must mean this,” and I proceeded to rock.”

“No, that’s not it either.”

Interesting to me that it’s alright to stare, unless the person being stared at knows it’s happening.

I could probably draw a lot of criticism and some of it might be valid, but I am stuck in this world with all these would-be rescuers. It never ends and there are days when I feel I’ve had quite enough. The would-be critics ought to walk in my shoes for a day or two. I don’t feel sorry for myself, but I don’t think people realize how difficult it can be to put up with inappropriate behavior and total strangers trying to tell me what to do. Most people I know wouldn’t last two hours without flying off the handle.

All I want is to go to the bathroom without being followed or to avoid being manually dragged across a street I don’t even want to cross. It’s apparent to me that if I don’t stick up for myself and protect myself from these people, no one will. Sometimes, people who want to help only put me in more danger. Neither do people realize that a little irreverent humor also serves to break the ice and people say to themselves, “I guess she’s got a few brain cells after all.”

One guy thought I should cross the street with him. I can’t always see the walk signs, but I could this time. It was blinking red. He tried to coax me, then my dog, into following him across. He was walking backward, waving at her and calling to me, “Come on! It’s safe!”

YEEEEEEOWM! He was so busy being “safe” that he was nearly nailed by an oncoming car. He turned around and ran the rest of the way across. I called to him, “Oh yeah! It’s really safe alright!”

I think my all-time favorite though, has to be the construction worker. He was across the street from where I was walking. When I reached the intersection, he dropped what he was doing and came running.

He came up to me all breathless and said, “You can walk now.”

I never trust the advice of strangers. It has consistently proved to be folly to do so. I rely on what the traffic is doing. So, I took a step in place, another and a few more and commenced jumping up and down, shouting “I’m healed! I’m healed!”

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Wonderful People

I tend to talk alot about the blunders some people make and the average reader probably thinks I'm really negative. While living with impaired vision can create some really frustrating situations, there really are a lot of wonderful people in the world, especially in the Northwestern U.S. Although there are some people that can only be politely described as "Interesting" they are in the minority.

Case in point for the minority: This man was at the crosswalk where I was standing. He was with his wife and another couple. The walk sign was blinking red and about that time, he grabbed my arm with this unbelievable iron grip saying,

"We're going to help you across."

Needless to say, he didn't get the opportunity because I'm a lot stronger than I look. Frankly, I was aghast. I wonder what he would have done if someone had grabbed his wife like that. If he cared about her at all, he would have slapped the fellow with assault charges or committed assault himself.

There is the unforgettable account of the guy with the dollar. I was walking down a very crowded downtown street when a guy walked up to me and handed me a dollar bill.

I spoke up quite loudly saying, "I'M NOT THAT KIND OF GIRL."

Funny thing: he didn't want his dollar back. He just sort of disappeared. Go figure.

I don't know why he thought I was pan-handling. I had my hair all done up and I was wearing a suit.

Fortunately, my experiences with people are overwhelmingly good. Once a guy walked up to me in McDonalds, asking if he could buy my dog a hamburger.

I said, "No, but you can buy me one."

Well, he did and I felt a little sheepish.

When I lived in downtown Seattle, I volunteered at a rescue mission, playing the piano. Some of my friends were concerned that I might come to some harm. Actually, I think I was safer because among most of the fellows at the mission, there was a sort of code of honor. If one of them encountered me, he would wait with me at the bus stop until the bus came. More than once, one of them escorted me to a destination. All of them were very kind and respectful.

Once I was in the Safeway store looking for either a box of Stouffers Mac & Cheese or an employee, whichever came first. A man walked up and asked if he could help me.

When I told him what I was looking for, he waltzed over to the freezer case and began selecting and reading the containers. Talk about going the extra mile. After all his effort, I still settled on Stouffers.

I thought that interlude was over with, but a few minutes later, he came running up to me with another box of mac & cheese.

"Excuse me," he said, "but this one is on sale for 69 cents cheaper and you get 6 ounces more."

Well, that was something, but it pales by comparison to a lady I once met at the mall. I was cruising down the mall with my dog when I turned in at a toy store. I had a tote bag full of knitting supplies that I sat down

on the floor while checking out the die-cast cars.

When I picked up my bag again, a strand of yarn got snagged on something and the rest is history. Now I was crusting down the mall again without a care in the world when a rather anxious lady came up to me.

"You've got a yarn snagged on something."

This was not pleasant news as we had covered a lot of ground by that time.

"Oh, I knew that." I said.

We began gathering the strand, which seemed to grow right before our eyes into this huge mound of worsted spaghetti.

We had been giving the public a great performance for several minutes now when another lady walked up and said,

"You've got a piece of yard caught on something."

I said, "I knew that."

I finally snapped the yarn in half and stuffed what we had gathered into the bag. The lady who had been helping me asked if I was sure I wanted to do this.

I asked her, "Would you want to own this if it was you?"

"No," she chuckled. "I guess not".

I made tracks to get as far away from this scene as I could, losing myself--I thought--in a crowd of people ordering fast food at the food court. Just about the time I thought I was safe, the lady appeared.

"Oh, I'm so glad I found you." She sighed. "Here's the rest of your yarn."

There is a really memorable day I still think about often. I had arrived home with my new dog and making my way toward baggage claim. I had called my husband to let him know I had arrived and he was on his way.

I walked from the plane to baggage claim with a fellow-passenger, a lady with a hand cart. She offered to put one of my bags on the cart. I was afraid I'd walk off and lose it, but I finally gave in. As I feared, I did forget to grab it when we parted ways. A Skycap came up to me, asking if I wanted help. I explained to him, what had just happened. He had seen the lady with me and went off looking for her, once he got me situated out on the curb. He came back once to say he was still looking for her.

I had quite a wait for my husband. I had been waiting nearly a half-hour when the same Skycap returned with my bag, apologizing for the delay. I gave him all the cash I had left. I was almost in tears to think this total stranger spent a half-hour, when he could have been racking up tips, just to look for my bag.

A fellow Skycap was at a baggage desk out where I was standing. He told me, "Hey, we're both from New York. In New York, we know how to take care of things." I will never again, agree with people who say New Yorkers are rude.

I thought this was the one to remember until my more recent trip to New Jersey. I arrived at Liberty airport tired and hungry. I walked with another passenger down to baggage claim. Someone hailed me a skycap. I don't know how word gets around so fast that I'm visually impaired. I did't have a dog or a cane that day, but it gets around.

When I told the man where I was going, he asked me to wait a moment. He traded the large dolly he normally used to transport luggage for a small cart individuals use for their own baggage. "You have to go to P.4." he explained. "That's a satelite location. We're going to have to take the subway. So we walked through what must have been half the airport, descended in an elevator and waited for the train. he rode with me to P.4. We were standing outside where hotel shuttles stop. He asked which I was waiting for. I said, Holiday Inn.

"Oh, that one runs about every twenty minutes."

This man had already spent nearly a half-hour with me. He cold have easily waited on three or four people by now. This was definitely above and beyond the call. I pulled a $20 out of my wallet, handing it to him. His eyebrows went up. "Do you realize how much money you just gave me?"

"Yes, of course. I figured you could have waited on four people now, so here's four tips. I've heard that blind people don't normally tip and I believe it, because cab drivers and skyczps seem surprised when I tip them. He still waited there with me another fifteen minutes and loaded my luggage onto the shuttle for me. Now THAT's what I call a hero.

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The Guy On Crutches

I was taking a greyhound bus one evening. I boarded with my dog, hoping to find a seat near the front. The aisles on these buses are narrow enough that navigating them can be bothersome to a dog, especially one who is trained to walk beside you.

I asked if someone could vacate one of the front seats. My request was met with apathy. Several young men just sat there. Finally, someone got up and moved toward the back. He was using wrist crutches, the kind paraplegics use. I was really angry. I said, “You guys ought to be ashamed of yourselves, leaving that up to him. Shame on you!”

I felt terrible for putting that guy on the spot. It just goes to show that those who know adversity usually know compassion.

We got underway and stopped about 45 minutes later at a convenience store. Everyone including me got off, heading for the little store. I noticed the only person left aboard was the guy on crutches. It was dinner time and I suspected he didn’t have any money. I went in there and got myself a corn dog and a few Jo-Jos. Then, I bought a huge bag of chicken, Jo-Jos, ribs, potato chips and anything else that looked worthy.

After I got my dog situated, I took the larger bag of food back to where the guy was sitting and held it out to him. “I thought you might be hungry.”

He was hungry, really hungry. He gratefully tore into that bag of food. I said, “I’m really sorry. If I had any idea what those guys were going to do , I wouldn’t have asked anyone to move.

“That’s alright.” He said.

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My ID

I was in line at Target one Christmas, dog in tow. I had a cart full of yarn and candy the cashier was ringing up when I asked her "What are those?" There was a bunch of red and green somethings stacked up about fifteen feet behind her.

"Those what?"

"Those red and green things."

"Oh, those M&M gift boxes? You mean you can't see those?"

"Well, not really."

"Are you partly blind?" she asked.

"Yes."

In a thoughtful tone of voice, she said, "You know, you might want to carry some ID or something to let people know you are blind."

I bent over, picked up my dog and hoisted her up to the counter.

"How's this?" I asked

Of course, she gasped and spoke those golden words, "Oh, I didn't see that."

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"You Don't Know Where You Live"

I heard this statement one day while a paratransit driver was ambling around my neighborhood, trying to find my house. I told him he had turned the wrong way and was heading for 10th, when I lived on 11th.

"You don't know where you live." He snapped.

So, I sat there watching the scenery. It was becoming increasingly clear he didn't know where he was going as he wandered from street to street like one might wander the aisles in a grocery store. He drove and drove. After circling the general area where I lived, He ended up having to ask me how to get to my house.

OOPS!

If you want really good directions, ask a blind person. It amazes me how many people pull up when I'm at a bus stop asking, "Do you know how to get to Union, I'm looking for the--never mind. You wouldn't know that." More than once, I've managed to rattle off how to get there before they pull away.

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The Bumbling Bus Driver

He slowed the bus to a stop, put on the brake, stepped out, walked around behind me and propelled me forward with his hand in the middle of my back.

"What does this guy think he's doing?" I thought. "Or better yet, what does he think I'm doing?"

This was totally unnecessary. Once on the bus, he tried to push me toward the seat by the door.

Do these people ever wonder what I do when they're not around. There are actually people who think I should be grateful for such treatment.

"Please stop pushing me!"

"I'm nott pushing you!"

"Oh, then what is your hand doing in the middle of my back?"

I honestly don't think he realized what he was doing. If this doesn't seem like anything of great consequence, try shutting your eyes sometime and have someone push you from behind. I can promise you, it won't be pleasant.

I sat down near an elderly man. He leaned over and said softly, "You tell'em honey. You don't need to be treated like that. Good job."

"We don't have any attaches"

One afternoon, I went shopping for an attaches case. I chose the handbag department of a large department store, sure they'd have what I was looking for. "We don't have any attaches," the sales woman said sadly. "Let me go look in the back and see if we have any in stock that aren't on the floor yet."

She was gone for some time when I said to my dog, "Alright Kate, where are the attaches".

I let her wander. She headed for a wall of shelves. There was a ton of Liz Claiborne attaches in any color one could want. I chose a nice brown one and went back to the cash register. Imagine the look on the saleswoman's face when she found me standing there with what she had gone looking for.

Where did you find that?"

"Oh, back there on the wall. There's lots of them."

"I'm really sorry. I should have seen them."

"That's alright. The dog found them.

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The Woefully Inept Salesman,

“What Else Can I do To Ensure You Never Shop Here Again?”

I was picking up a typewriter one afternoon, from one of the big departments stores at the local mall. They told me in the electronics department to go to customer pickup for the typewriter. As is often the case, they didn’t give me very good directions. This was long before I had a dog and I never used a cane, so I often didn’t appear to be visually impaired.

Unable to locate Customer Pickup, I wandered into the appliance department. I figured that if anyone knew where Customer Pickup was, it would be these guys. I started poking my nose into each of a row w of refrigerators where I was soon spotted by a salesman.

“Can I help you with something?” He asked.

“Yes. How do I get to Customer Pickup?”

“Well,” he began. “You go over there, then turn left and go all the way down there. Then it will be right by the door.”

I spent a moment or two pondering what exactly what all that meant. Hoping some of it would make sense. I hated to ask what I next asked, because the results were usually about the same and this was no exception. In fact, it turned to be worse that I ever thought possible. Sometimes, asking for help gets every kind of help imaginable, none of which has anything to do with what I really need.

“Can you be a little more specific please? I’m visually impaired.

With that, his whole demeanor changed.

“What are you picking up?”

“Sir, I just need to know where Customer Pickup is.”

“What are you picking up?”

I sighed heavily. “A typewriter.”

“How are you going to get it home?”

“How do you think I got here?”

“How are you taking it home?”

“On the bus.”

“Are you sure you can do that?”

“Can you just PLEASE tell me where it is?”

I should have walked right there, but I was hoping this would eventually get somewhere.

“I’ll find someone who can help you.” He said, and then disappeared.

“This is absolutely ridiculous!” I thought. If I weren’t so frustrated, it would be funny.”

He returned about five minutes later.

“Now what was it you needed?”

“Dear LORD!” I thought. “GIVE ME GRACE!”

“I need to go to Customer Pickup.”

“What are you picking up?”

“Please just tell me where it is.”

“What are you picking up?”

“A typewriter.”

“How are you going to get it home?”

I don’t think I answered that question. He left again, saying, “I’ll find someone who can help you.” Honestly, he would have made it much easier on himself to, if nothing else walk there with me. I was about ready to walk when a friend of mine and her mother approached me. “What are you doing here?”

“Wasting as much time as possible.”

“what?”

“Oh, you won’t believe this guy. He can’t give me simple directions.”

“Where are you trying to go?”

“To Customer Pickup.”

“Oh, my friend said. “You go straight down this main aisle and out the doors, straight ahead. Then when you get outside, turn left and it’s in this little separate office thing.”

I wondered why the salesman couldn’t tell me something so simple. Maybe he was dyslexic and couldn’t tell left from right.

“We can go with you if you like.” My friend said.

“Thanks, but I want to wait til this guy comes back. I’m gonna fix his little wagon!”

“Oh no!” my friend said, knowing what I was capable of. “Oh YES!” I replied.

The salesman soon came along. “Now, what was it you needed?”

I was sure by now he was working from a script from which he must not deviate, lest he be stricken by a lightning bolt or something. I thought that perhaps he was standing about thirty feet away when he “Went looking for someone to help you”, hoping I’d give up and leave.

“I’m going to Customer Pickup.”

“What are you picking up?”

With hands on my hips, I looked him square in the eye. “I’m picking up a grand piano. My friends here are going to help me carry it to the car. We’re going to strap it down on top and I’m driving. Alright girls, let’s go!” ” With that, we turned about and headed for the door, with all three of us covering our mouths with our hands so as not to burst out laughing, but I couldn’t hold it back. Neither could Robin.

The salesman?

I suspect he probably went home and dug out his employee handbook to read up on the job orientation segment he had slept through.

(These stories and others are being compiled for an upcoming book, "Speak Up! I'm blind.")

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ESSAYS:

Healing and Some Real Heels

(An article EVERY Christian should read)

By Shelley Magnussen

Ode to eith Green

"God wants you healed! He does. It’s in His word.”

If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard these words, I’d be typing this essay from my 100-acre dream estate on my gold-plated laptop. A lot of people mean well. A few of them are just plain obsessed.

“God told me to pray for you.” They’d say. “He wants to heal you.”

So, there I was, a relatively new Christian, still young and impressionable. How could I argue theology with someone twice my age that apparently knows the Bible backward and forward? Then, they would offer to pray for me. I’d reluctantly agree and they’d start, kind of like a tea kettle put on to boil. They’d get this pseudo-spiritual momentum going, praying with their whole bodies, swaying back and forth and a few other people with their hands on me, rattling away in tongues. Sometimes, it would turn into a who can pray the loudest contest.

Finally, they’d finish. We’d all open our eyes and look at one-another. I think some of them were waiting for some supernatural phenomenon such as my head starting to glow or for the Mount of Olives to split in half. I didn’t know what they expected, but I soon found out.

“Well,” they’d inevitably ask. “Has anything happened?”

“No.” I’d say timidly. Then, BAM!, spiritually speaking. It wasn’t so much about me being healed. It was about them being able to validate bad theology.

“Don’t say THAT!” They’d snap, giving me a good spiritual scolding. “You’re supposed to confess your healing. Confess that you’re healed!”

I don’t know why they even asked if I sensed anything. They already had their minds made up about what should happen. My opinion meant nothing. My self-image meant nothing. “Praise the Lord. You ARE healed!” They got their spiritual “good deed for the day,” while I went home--in a manner of speaking--bloody and grieving, to have a good cry.

I felt like a third-class Christian. It seemed God really didn’t care much about me or—even worse—that it was something I did or didn’t do that blocked His power. That was exactly what they’d tell me. “God can’t heal you because you don't have enough faith or you have sin in your life. Who doesn't? Honestly! The God of the Universe, the Amen who spoke creation into existence sitting in Heaven, wringing His hands saying, “I want to heal Shelley, but I just can’t because that thing in her life--that I won’t even reveal to her--is in my way! Oh what shall I do???”

OH PLEEEEASE!

To read more, CLICK HERE

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Ten Things You Should Never Say to a

Blind Person:

While it is hard to settle on what is the proper thing to say when meeting someone, but in the case of most people, there are definitely things to avoid l, e, , "Well, you're fat, but I've seen people who look even worse." Some visually impaired people won't be offended by these statements, but I suspect many will. A lot of them may be too polite to tell you what to say or what not to say. It is, therefore, wise to steer clear of the following.

I know just how you feel. I can hardly see without my glasses.
It’s right there!
You missed a piece of your dog’s poo-poo.
Can you hear me?
Can you feel that?
I’M GOING TO SHAKE YOUR HAND!!
Can’t they do anything for you?
What’s wrong with you?
God is going to heal you!
You shouldn’t be doing that!

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Why shouldn't I say them?

It's inappropriate to say most of these things to anyone. No one knows how anyone feels and no one wants to be shouted at or patronized. It is all about treating others as you want to be treated, A lot of these statements assault a person's dignity, a precious commodity when living with a disability.

I know just how you feel. I can hardly see without my glasses.

Telling a blind person this is like telling a fireman, "I know just how it is for you on the job.

I lit a fire once.

It’s right there!

There is no such thing as "right there." It's fight, left, up or down, etc."

You missed a piece of your dog’s poo-poo.

If you say this to me, you're likely to be handed a plastic bag of your own. Nobody wants to be corrected, especially by a total stranger. The world' is not going to end if there's a little piece of scat in the grass. Additionally, a blind person's guide dog relieving itself is a private thing and should be treated as you would someone else in a rest room.

Can you hear me?

Just because I am not making eye-contact, does not mean I don't hear you. Remember, I'm visually-impaired, NOT deaf.

Can you feel that?

I've never had any trouble with my sense of touch.

I’M GOING TO SHAKE YOUR HAND!!

Shouting at people is never polite. Intentions are irrelevant.

Can’t they do anything for you?

If they could, I'm sure I'd be implementing it in my life.

What’s wrong with you?

There's nothing wrong with me. Lots of people have impaired vision. some visual issues can be corrected. Some can't, but that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with me.

God is going to heal you!

Like I said, there's nothing wrong with me.

You shouldn’t be doing that!

I'm perfectly capable of deciding what I can and can't do. I know my self and my limitations better than anyone else.

If you'd like to know more about issues concerning visually-impaired people, check out our FAQ pate. You'll find some really helpful answers to common questions.

To visit the FAQ page, CLICK HERE

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A poem For My Mother

Mom is the first face you see in this world, Hers is the first voice you hear.

And when you cry, she’s the first one to come and to say, "It’s okay, Mommy’s here."

Mom is the cool gentle hand on your brow, when you’re burning up with a fever.

And takes you to the doctor, and worries and frets and sits with you until you recover.

Mom is the one who first takes you to school until you feel more sure of yourself,

And displays that lop-sided clay “something” you’ve made on the house’s most prominent shelf.

Mom is new dresses for Christmas and Easter she stayed up half the night, just to make.

She’s part Santa, Tooth Fairy, part merchant and chef with a grand pink and white Birthday cake.

Mom is the medic when you skin your knees, with that stuff that she uses, that stings!

But you know it’s because she really does love you by the warm cup of tea that she brings.

She’s the one that you know you shouldn’t defy, even when you’re getting older.

And when the first “man” in your life breaks your heart, well, you know you can cry on her shoulder.

When you achieve what you think is adulthood And you fly, too soon, from the nest.

Then, you reach thirty-two to discover that you don’t know much and that Mother really does know best.

When you’ve finally grown and have kids of your own and reflect on your childish years,

And when Mother’s Day comes around once again, you see her with new eyes, filled with tears.

It’s because you are now seeing her as she is, Verses yourself, as you were

For although it is true she’s not perfect, still you dearly hope you turn out much like her

For there is no one else on this Earth, quite like her no one else who could give as she gave.

So you want to surround her with gifts and to crown her your queen, far beyond just a day.

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A Memory

A memory is often richer than the experience that spawned it--a distilled, vivid essence that enriches itself as the years pass. It is a reminder of how good and precious it is to love, to risk and to sacrifice.

Of course, not all memories are pleasant. As in the case of the positive, the hurtful are also a microcosm of the experience itself, but thankfully, the bad memories seldom outlast the good. The good memories are what makes possible, the insurmountable.

They are little messages from God, reminding us that no force on Earth can outshine His love.

A memory grieves when it has lost the one it represents in death. It becomes painful, by virtue of its own warmth. It may ache to die as reliving it has now turned bittersweet. This too, is for a season. Eventually, life comes full-circle and the memory becomes a jewel--a memorial of the one lost.

All in all, it would be difficult to appreciate the good without the bad.

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Calling all

creative people!!

We're looking for some really good blindness-related T-shirt like these:

Sight ain't everything

I ain't DEAF!

Blind Pilots Association

Blind is beautiful!

Or, how about bumper stickers!

I'm blind and I drive better than you

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More good stuff to come.

Please check back periodically

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