A Belated Introduction

“Asian Pacific Picnic, here I come!”

I’d been waiting for this event for about a month. Not only would I reconnect with the international community I so missed from my travels, this would also give me an opportunity to network for the Asian Cultures class. I planned to find speakers and interview subjects to interact with my students at Mercyhurst College.

The picnic started at noon. Dressed and ready to go at 10 am, I drummed my fingers on the table and read the flyer again. Then I placed my jelly cookies on a paper plate. I willed the hands of the clock to move ahead. Finally, the time arrived...but my ride didn’t!

“Be patient,” I scolded myself, “she’ll be here soon.” But that didn’t happen until about 2 pm.

The phone rang. “I’m on my way,” my colleague, Brenda, promised.

“Oh? No problem.” Did I sound cheery enough? She was driving me, after all. We still had a couple of hours left. I had till 4 pm.“We just need to make one stop.” What??

I gritted my teeth and nodded. Still time...

It would take thirty minutes to get to the beach from home. We finally arrived at the Peninsula. I tried to keep my voice nonchalant, “So where is Beach 11?”

“Amy, I’m not sure, but we’ll find it.”

We drove and drove, and as the minutes ticked by, my chest felt tighter and tighter.

I grew up in this area but I don’t know these things. Even if I could see well, I haven’t been on the beach for the past twenty-five years. Brenda had said she knew.

Ten minutes passed. Tick! Tick!

“Amy, how about if we get out here and ask? There’s a First Aid Station.” Brenda seemed eager to solve the dilemma. “You go ask those picnickers and I’ll ask at the station.”

Barefooted, she made her way over the gravel to a building. Where are her shoes? We are never going to make it! I still held the plate of cookies in my hand. The jelly cookies stuck to the cling wrap now.

The picnickers I asked shrugged. “It’s way back there. We are between Beach 6 and 7.”

I gulped. Oh Lord, help us make it! Where is Brenda?!

Brenda tiptoed across through the parking area, “I guess it’s back a ways,” She made a face and I couldn’t help myself, “I’ve been looking forward to this forever and...”

She interrupted, “Okay, I don’t have any shoes. You go and try to make it.” Brenda pushed me toward the sidewalk, “GO!”

“What? No, let’s stay together!”

“I hate to say this but I’m outta gas, and I have no shoes. You give me money for gas an--”

The urge to slap Brenda silly came over me. I’m half-blind. I forgot my cane. And you expect me to go walking miles—by myself—carrying my smooshed jelly cookies to try to find Beach 11 and a disbanded picnic?!

“Go!” she urged. “No, wait! First. Money--”

I glared daggers. She appeared not to notice. So I found myself reaching into my pocket and taking out a five-dollar-bill.

“Okay, now. Go!” She gave me a shove.

She rushed to her car. I marched in the opposite direction. Smoldering anger consumed me.

I marched faster.

Stepped higher.

Bam! Walked right into a big tree branch. The low-lying leaves slapped me. Slapped me silly, they did! I tried to battle my way back to sunlight.

“Owwe!”

I raised one hand to rub my forehead and bumped my other hand; the plate of cookies tipped forward and began to fall. I reached out to save them. In doing so, they got all squished!


Eeeeeehhh!

All the sudden the humor snuck through to me and I began to laugh. A laugh that hurt my stomach.

Every time I get myself into these situations, I am carrying something bothersome!

I recalled as a new faculty member at our college in the Middle East, that earned me the privilege of traveling to Abu Dhabi to shake the hand of royalty, the Sheikh of the United Arab Emirates. Talk about BIG! I was gonna meet the head of a country! That day I clutched, not a plate of cookies, but an oversized purse to my side. I couldn’t figure out what to do with it when I got ready to shake the hand of His Excellency. As I worried about that gigantic purse slugging the Sheikh in the stomach and knocking the wind out of him, the actual moment arrived. I marched right past the Sheikh! My college director gasped, “Whoa, Amy!” He turned me around and guided me back to that important man to shake his hand.

That memory brought a smile to my face as I marched and clutched my bent plate of cookies, and marched some more. Purses. Cookies. Coats. I always carried something.

Now I know. When I get angry, I march.

This brought another smile to my face. My out-of-step marching lacked rhythm and coordination when I had to lead Grade 3 in a marching competition thirty years ago in Colombia! I guess I never got angry enough!

The more I thought about my crazy predicament in trying to reach the Asian picnic, the more humor I felt.

“Oh God, thank you for the sunshine today! Thank you for my two sneakered feet to walk with, and trees to slap the silly into me. I even thank you for my limited vision. What I don’t see doesn’t seem to matter much. I still get through these situations.” I giggled again.

A jogger passed me. “What time is it?”

“4:30” he shouted back.

“Whoa, Lord! How can I turn back the time?!” Who can I ever meet now? How did we get so lost? And how crazy that Brenda didn’t wear shoes ... and how could she run out of gas, take my money and make me walk? On. My. Big. Asian. Friendship. Day.

I wanted to feel injustice.

But...truly, the laughter kept bubbling out of me.

Okay, this is gonna hafta be a God-thing. If you want me to have a speaker for the class, You are gonna have to arrange it.

Five weeks later. “Class, I’d like you to meet Ms. Veni Mudiam from India. Please give her a big Mercyhurst welcome!”

Thank you, God. You not only share a laugh or two with me through my absurd and frequent calamities, You use them to purposefully turn me toward You. This way, I can’t miss Your hand in my life. Blind or not, I can still see You clearly.


You always have the right connections.

Words define and guide us

“I, personally, prefer to use the word "sight" rather than "vision" because one can possess much vision with no sight; while the converse results in sighted people who are by no stretch of the imagination, visionaries. Blindness, to whatever degree, is simply the absence of sight; vision is quite another matter.”

- Chet Smalley, Blindness and mobility specialist, Erie, PA.

A few days ago, I was asked to participate in a survey of a doctoral student at Louisiana Tech University because my mobility specialist thought that I could “contribute positively” to this research. I was reminded of how far I had come from that covert, secretly-out-of-my-element, ha-ha, sorry-so-clumsy-today young woman. Few knew then that I struggled with Retitinitis Pigmentosa, a progressive eye disease robbing me of my sight. Today - one year later to the day - I use a cane, smile a lot and can speak openly about my RP.

However, my ever-vigilant mobility instructor alerts me to language in my speech that he believes holds me back from becoming the best that he knows I can be. The other day, he pinpointed something in my correspondence to him that made me realize he had my best interest at heart. He said, "You, for example, Amy, still think of your blindness as a "condition" rather than one of your many characteristics." I had said that I wanted to befriend a young woman I knew of who had RP. I felt she was avoiding the meeting and concluded that it was probably "a little frightening [for her] to think of meeting another person with vision problems."

He was quick to respond, "Look at the language you are using: the words "vision" and "problem." "Problem" is the use, in my view, of deficit language. "Blind" can also be construed as a "deficit" word until one becomes acquainted with blind people who are productive, happy and well-adjusted to their blindness. Blind people by the thousands are demonstrating that the world need not be interacted with just by way of sight."

Chet went on to say that "blindness when perceived as a characteristic, instead of a "disability" can become just one component of an otherwise fulfilled person." I realized when I read his words that although I had made progress on this continuum of accepting myself as blind, I still had a journey before I would be comfortable thinking of blindness as simply another characteristic of myself. I wonder how one gets to that point?

Chet believes it is through immersion cane training and exposure to positive role models that enables one to truly adjust. He points out that "adjusting to blindness means living that to which one is hoping to adjust; and "living" can only be accomplished, well, by "living!" That makes sense, in theory. If using my cane becomes so second nature that I do see my blindness simply as another characteristic and not the defining characteristic of myself, will I have arrived at the understanding he envisions for me?

It is this question I grapple with now. If I intend to positively impact the lives of the blind students I envision myself teaching, then I must be certain that I have the best understanding of who I am with my unique capabilities and characteristics. This identity Chet describes has to come from within myself. It's not something I can put on or take off at random.

The question returns: how do I reduce a "condition" to simply one of many characteristics that makes me up? As always, God provides me with the answer.

In the book of Colossians, Paul exhorts his Christian brethren, "We have not stopped praying for you and asking God to fill you with the knowledge of His will through all spiritual wisdom and understanding." (Col 1:9) This tells me that we have brothers and sisters who pray for this very thing in our lives. We have been told to ask God for wisdom, and assured that He will provide it for whatever need we have in our lives. Whether our application comes from an extended training session and advice through knowledgeable people, it is God that unveils the source and opportunities to us.

God has made me for many purposes, and if I choose to walk by my defining characteristic, my love for Him, then He will make everything clear in His perfect timing. As I grow and adjust to this continuum of blindness God has allowed me to go through, He will place markers along the way to guide me. I believe Chet’s attention to my “deficit” language is such a marker.

Paul goes on to say, "And we pray this [wisdom and understanding] in order that you might live a life worthy of the Lord and may please him in every way, bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God..."(Col 1:10). Has he chosen for me to bear fruit in a new capacity now? I am so excited!

Lord, I lift you up! When I first became a teacher, I didn't believe I had the characteristics to be successful, and yet You have carried me through all my doubts. You have never given up on me. You have brought me to many peaks in my life, and shouldered my fears. As a result, I have moved ahead in my language teaching with foreign students. This has put me in a pivotal position to share your love in over thirty-three countries!

I know that every experience we go through prepares us to serve in bigger capacities. If it’s Your plan to change my teaching population and goals, bring everything I need to know to light so that I might bear fruit in my life, and bring You glory.

Thank you, Lord that even as my "sight" diminishes, You will continue to magnify my “vision.”

Taking on the Bistro

I left you in the heart of downtown Erie in the middle of Roar to the Shore. I was blindfolded and seeking out a specific restaurant to further test my "Acclimation to Blindness" skills by eating a meal when a tough Motorcycle Mama lit into me for tapping her motorbike with my cane. If you remember, our training fell on one of the craziest days of summer. Downtown Erie was holding a Block Party, which meant a lot more clutter on the sidewalks, which turned the task into a much more challenging task for little ol' blindfolded ME!
~~~~

"I don't think the restaurant is very far off, if I remember correctly," Chet warned.

That was my cue to ask for the address. So I stopped and turned to the first voice I heard, "What is the address here?" The speaker dutifully supplied it, and Chet clapped his hands in excitement, "As I figured. We're not far from our destination!" He was delighted. How did he figure these things out? He turned to me, "We need to get to Number 2027. We are on the correct street, right?"

"Yes," I affirmed.

"Will we stay on this side of the street or cross it? And then, which direction will we head?"

"We need to cross the street and go north."

"We'll cross Seventh from the northeast to the northwest corner," he corrected.

"Oh! Yeah!" I had no idea anymore or even that we were at a corner.

"Good!... After you!" Chet sounded very pleased.

I wanted to peek very badly to make sure I was going right because I had to lead us across the street. Chet was on my heels so I had to listen for the traffic and could not cheat! The way sounded clear so I gave Chet the go-ahead. He listened for just a moment to verify, and we were off!

I could feel a wide cement stairway and climbed five steps, felt for a door handle, and pulled. We were inside a building.

I asked for the address. "Yep, this is it! Let's go in!" Was I ready for this?

Entering the restaurant was a breeze. "My name's Dan and I'll be your waiter for the afternoon," he said as he took me by the arm, and gently escorted me to a round table on the left-hand side of the room. What a relief after all the obstacles outdoors! I folded up my cane and took a deep breath while he read the menu to us.

I could tell by the plush carpet, the silence surrounding us and the impeccable manners of the waiter that we had chosen an upscale bistro for our experiment.

Chet seemed put out temporarily that the waiter had escorted me, "Much better for you to have found the seat on your own...but no matter," he resigned himself, plotting for me to find my own way out, no doubt!

"Madame?"

"Ah," I bit my lip, "I'll have a cup of ... expresso," (I am not a coffee drinker but the surroundings called for something more elegant than my usual glass of water).

I chose some messy crepe, ice-creamy, sliced-banana, chocolate-syrupy type dessert. I am going out on a limb here. If I have to be blindfolded, I might as well make it worth my trouble. I’m not going to play it safe with a mere pudding you just have to scoop out with a spoon!

I could hear the waiter pouring water into what I discovered to be long-stemmed glasses a few minutes later. When I felt for the glass with my right hand, my fingers touched the cool condensation on the outside rim. I picked it up and took a sip. Refreshing!

"Madame, here is your turtle crepe. It is directly in front of you. Your fork is to the right of the plate.Your expresso is at 2:00." I had recently learned that the face of a clock is a good way for people to visualize where an object (usually food) is located in relation to them. This waiter knew his stuff!

I picked up the fork in one hand and knife with the other, and proceeded to cut the banana crepe. I unobtrusively snuck a finger to the plate to feel where the rim was. I didn't want it to slide off! Then I proceeded to cut and stab a piece of banana, swish it in the syrup and add the crepe to the fork. I lifted it to my mouth and took the bite. With the cloth napkin, I dabbed at my chin in case I missed my mark at all. We didn't talk much as I focused completely on mastering this task. When I finished, I felt for my cup of expresso. Oh lukewarm! Darn! I took too long to eat! Well, I can't figure out everything at once, now can I? Next time, I'll get it right...

The sunshine fell on my right side from the sunny window next to me. Were my other senses becoming more heightened, I wondered? Well, anyone can feel the sun coming through the window!

Chet and I chatted about the day's outing casually. I began to feel a little giddy from the experience...or was that the expresso?! I chided myself, "Calm down, girl!"

Now, how would I pay? I asked the waiter to read me the bill. Then I felt for my bills. Which was the ten and which was the one? I asked the waiter, and later had him count back my change.

"Now if you want to be certain about your change, and keep your independence, pay attention to what I'm going to say next."

Chet then explained different ways of folding the various money denominations to distinguish them for greater independence. A whole lesson, contextualized. As a teacher, I know this is the very best kind of lesson one can receive.

The bistro was a smashing success! Although Dan had disappeared, I led the way out of the restaurant just fine, fumbling a bit by the door but with my head held high, and my confidence soaring even higher.

"Who was that waitress who helped direct me to the door?" I asked afterwards.

"No, she wasn't a waitress. She was standing outside the door. So I guess she was just attending the block party and making herself useful." Chet observed.

"Oh!" I thought she was a waitress. How did Chet figure out these things? My completely blind trainer was so in tune with people and his surroundings! I felt awed.

But the best thing about my day was the van was located just across the street! I could take my blindfold off!

Thank you, thank you, thank you God for getting me through this afternoon!

Chet's lessons are the key to my future independence.

Street Smarts

This entry is about one of my most challenging cane training sessions in downtown Erie last July. My objective was to get around town and eat out in a restaurant, blindfolded (wearing 'sleep shades'), to simulate the conditions I find myself in at night when I can't see very well. Note: my mobility instructor is completely blind.
I'll post this story in TWO PARTS.

~~~~

"Ready for the challenge? You are going to wear your sleep shades from start to finish.”

I tried to ignore the excitement in my trainer’s voice. What had I gotten myself into? I was already disoriented and we hadn’t even arrived at our drop-off point yet.

In ‘Adjustment to Blindness Training,’ obviously the onus falls on the student to meet the challenges of navigating to pre-designated locations in order to become independent and develop the necessary self-confidence to achieve goals in ways others never have to think about. The more ownership a student takes in his or her own progress, the faster these goals are met. Chet, my trainer, is superb. He steps back to allow me to initiate and follow through with my own decisions, yet stays close enough to ensure that I do not put myself in danger. But let me be clear: he does not mollycoddle me. I am forced to meet the challenges of the tasks before me. In addition, I must take on any unexpected developments that may crop up.

At no time was this clearer to me than during my last training session in the heart of downtown Erie. My target objective was to find a specific restaurant.

Before we left my house, Chet had me put on my sleep shades, circle his driver’s vehicle twice with my cane as was his custom at the start of every lesson.

"Okay, you can get in."

I listened, then saluted in the direction of his voice, felt for the door handle and eased myself in.

“I’m gonna give you some time to warm up. I won’t just throw you in the situation,” he explained.

“Huh! Warming up would be letting me see more bef--"

His voice hardened into a no-nonsense tough guy tone he rarely took with me as he interrupted, "You already know how to see. You’ve been doing that all your life. You are learning how to get around by not seeing. I will not be happy if you lose your vision before you are sufficiently prepared.”

“I know. I know.” I’m not going blind tomorrow! Well, that’s lucky because when I handed over my Braille for him to check on the ride in to Erie, that was a disaster.

“I see what you did. You wrote it all backwards.” Chet felt my sheet carefully. He made a valiant effort to decipher it, and then gave up. “Try again next time. Your first attempt was much better.”

“Uh-oh! I hope today’s training goes better than my Braille.”

“Don’t think like that; you’re gonna do great!”

The van came to a halt. I squared my shoulders, “Let’s do it.”

“We are now facing Thirteenth Street. The parallel street is State. We want to go to the Credit Union on the northeast corner of 12th and State. Its address is 1129 State. What direction do we need to go?”

“North ... uh, toward the lake I guess...” I started out confident but faltered. These directions downtown always confused me.

"Yes, that's correct."

When we got to the Credit Union, my easiest course of action was to stand and wait, but he insisted I find a bench to sit down.

“Errrr,” I growled but found my way to one, after having squeezed through what seemed to be a very narrow opening but was actually a regular-sized doorway. “Bravo! You did great!” came the voice of a young woman seated near me. “Oh!” I moved my foot and explored the area. It hit upon the steel framework of a baby stroller. Well, the stroller must come with a baby and its mama. Was she a 'plant'? How did she know if I was doing well? Soon I could hear her on what I guessed to be a cell phone. I gave up on my crazy theory that she'd somehow been 'planted' to cheer me on.

Chet found me and we headed out. I made it out of the bank straightaway (Good job, Amy! I congratulated myself). We then headed downtown. At some point, and I don’t remember which order, I crossed both State Street and Twelfth Street.

“You did that well! Just like a pro.”

Yippee! I crossed these major downtown streets on my own! My face turned into one huge grin. I felt like a jack-o-lantern with my heart a bright candle. If only everyone could see what I had accomplished! The adrenalin kept pumping in.

“Okay, now you wanted to try eating in a restaurant. So I am going to tell you the address and you are going to have to locate it. I’m not sure where it’s at myself so this will be a test for both of us.”

You’re gonna make me do the work here, right?

As I made my way on the sidewalk, the space I had to walk seemed to shrink. What were these odd-shaped steel objects I kept hitting? I took Chet's advice and explored them with my cane.

"Chet, they all seem to be different shapes. I can't really identify them."

“Oh, Amy. Erie is having a block party this weekend,” Chet recalled. “There are tables and chairs set up on the sidewalk and lots more people than usual. That's what we're coming across."

“Oh? Oh! A block party!” I could feel the panic set in. How would I ever make my way down this crowded sidewalk?

“You’re okay. People will move when they see you. If not, you’ll find them with your cane. Just challenge yourself. Keep going.”

“Ohhh!” I boxed myself into a corner and got tangled up in the legs of some chairs. Where is the way through?! A-my! Focus! People must be staring at you! “Uh..uh..Chet!”

“I’m here. You’re doin’ great.”

We continued on in this way. I gingerly tapped my way through the tables, chairs, electrical cords, frequently stopping to untangle my way amid the strollers, ad-hoc outdoor grills, cafes and chairs. I could smell smoke, some pungent spicy aromas, grilling meat, beer, and strong coffee all around me. "Mmmm," I took it in. It got really congested around Perry Square. Clomp! Ooops! Oh no! "Excuse me. Sorry." Were we actually making any progress? How much further?

The meat sizzled. I heard voices--some who seemed to man the food, others who sounded relaxed and I guess, ate the food. Children squabbled and laughed. I felt a sudden burst of air and a sweaty body bump my arm as wheels whizzed by. What was that? Skateboard?

Of particular interest to me was a female voice,"Stop staring at them. That isn't nice," Someone laughed. Someone else mumbled. Children? Teenagers? I strained to hear better. Did she mean Chet and me? Of course, everyone can see us. Just because we can't see them doesn't mean they can't see us. How quickly I forget that!

Suddenly I passed through an area of African American music. Rap. I could feel the beat pulsating. I imagined teenagers seated on the ground fiddling with the volume of their boom boxes. It distracted me as I continued along the sidewalk.

"We have to cross one more street,” Chet explained.

“Hey, watch it! That’s a six thousand dollar paint job on my motorcycle!” the tough voice of a woman called out very near me. I turned toward the voice . "Yeah, that's right, chick-o, YOU!"

I recoiled immediately. “Oh sorry,” I held my cane still for a moment, terrified to take another step.

“Did I tell you that this is also the weekend for “Roar to the Shore?” Chet asked me dryly. “8,000 motorcyclists are gathered right here in the heart of downtown for the event.”

I felt faint. “Well, I don’t think I befriended that one.”

“Come on, keep goin’ The restaurant can’t be far.” Chet's jovial voice spurred me on.

~~~~

Life is full of Motorcycle Mamas along our pathway, isn't it? Guaranteed, we're gonna smash into 'em when we least expect to. I think Chet has learned to sweep away negative criticism as easily as he takes the next sweep of his cane to move forward. I kinda like that approach to life. I'd like to take it up. I wonder how long it takes to learn that technique?!

Tune in tomorrow for the restaurant experience.