[blparent] Perspective

[Dianna Alley]

had nothing to do with blindness in my opinion had everything to do with 
being a parent
----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Jo Elizabeth Pinto" <jopinto at msn.com>
To: "NFBnet Blind Parents Mailing List" <blparent at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Monday, November 05, 2012 4:19 PM
Subject: [blparent] Perspective


>I had one of those moments this morning, one of those moments that puts 
>everything into crystal clear perspective, if only for a split second. 
>Maybe I’m writing it down just to try and process it, since it’s been two 
>and a half hours and I can still feel my heart racing.  I know sighted 
>parents have these moments too, when they look up from examining something 
>in a store and don’t see their kids, or when an ambulance goes screaming by 
>and they glance around to make sure their little ones are safe.  But I 
>think this one did happen because I was blind.
>
> Sarah was riding her three-wheeled Barbie scooter on the sidewalk in front 
> of our townhouse.  I went inside just for a minute or two when nature’s 
> call refused to be ignored.  Then I walked back out onto the porch and 
> called for Sarah to come get her stuff so her dad could take her to 
> school.  She didn’t answer.  I stepped down off the porch and yelled 
> louder, since my bum knee has been slowing me down and I didn’t want to 
> walk back out to where I had left her loading up her scooter with rocks 
> and pine cones under a tree in the neighbor’s front yard so she could 
> bring me the “mail” again.  She still didn’t answer.  She’s supposed to 
> stay on the straight sidewalk that runs in front of our building when she’s 
> riding her bike or scooter unless someone is with her.  I had heard a big 
> truck in the parking lot one house over from mine, and as I yelled again, 
> it began to make the familiar noises of a trash truck.  I started 
> screaming for Sarah, because just for that split second, my mind had me 
> convinced that the sanitation driver hadn’t seen her on her scooter, and 
> she was mashed under that truck.  I don’t even remember running down the 
> sidewalk toward the dumpster, although my knee is now reminding me that I 
> did it.  And there she was with her dad, who had just driven up to take 
> her to school, both of them wondering why I was racing toward them, 
> hysterical.  Dad thinks she didn’t hear me calling because of the truck. 
> I’m not sure if she didn’t hear or just decided not to answer.  But after 
> they left for school, I sobbed my way through an oversized cup of coffee, 
> two miniature Kit-Kat bars, and one mini-bag of Peanut M&M’s, rattled by 
> what didn’t happen but could have, or what felt for a second like it 
> really happened even though it didn’t.
>
> I guess I’m telling this because I’m still seriously behind with my work, 
> my house is still strewn with toys from one end to the other, my credit 
> card is still maxed out, I still don’t know what I’m going to make for 
> supper tonight—but my daughter didn’t get squashed by a fearsome but 
> perfectly innocent trash truck.  It’s a good day.
>
> Jo Elizabeth
>
> Truth is tough. It will not break, like a bubble, at a touch; nay, you may 
> kick it about all day like a football, and it will be round and full at 
> evening.--Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
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