[nabs-l] Philosophy in society

[Bridgit Pollpeter]

It is a total drag when people want to only talk about your blindness--
as though you have nothing to offer.  I try to view these moments as
educational opportunities.  I kindly and diplomatically explain, to the
best of my abilities, how blind people "do" things.  I try to answer
questions, but then turn the conversation around to discuss other
matters.  Find opportunities in conversations to change the discussion.

It is not always easy.  I do think it is perfectly acceptable to, in a
diplomatic fashion, explain that blind people have other interest.  Ask
the person questions so a back-and-forth begins.

I am posting an essay I wrote that exemplifies this discussion, I think.
There is a section with some strong language so if you do not enjoy
strong language, you may want to skip this.  It is only a small section
that includes the language.  Enjoy.  *smile*

The Event of the Century

The chill wind whips my hair as I cane along the Fuddrucker's building
with my long white cane searching for the door.  My friends do the same
with their canes.  The scent of grease filters through the chill air.
It is the unmistakeable odor of a hamburger joint.  We are cold, and we
are hungry.  Finding the door, we all scurry inside.  We are seven
friends out on a Saturday having a good time-we all happen to be blind. 

Piling into the entrance, we tap our white canes investigating the
restaurant.  Ross, my husband, and I find a wall and follow it with our
canes tapping back-and-forth against the wall.  "Hey guys," I call out,
"I believe this is the counter."  The click of cane tips echoes from all
directions as Shane, Amy, Audra, Jamie and Carol find their way to the
counter.  Since the menu is not available in Braille, I ask the cashier
to please read the choices out loud.  Ross and I order as our friends
from Lincoln, who we do not see often, decide what sounds best. 

Grabbing my cup, I listen for the soda fountain.  Ice chinks into a cup
and I follow the sound.  I encounter an island separating the soda
fountain from where I stand.  Pausing for a second, I determine which
direction to walk around the island, but before I can take another step,
a stranger approaches me. 

"Can I help you?" she asks. 

"No thanks.  I'm just going to fill my cup," I say. As I step around the
stranger, arcing my cane, I can tell she is hesitating.  Before I know
what to do, she pinches a fold of my coat and yanks me around the
island. 

"It's this way," she says . 

"Thanks, but that's the direction I was moving in, ma'am." 

The stranger pauses again as my friends move past looking for an open
table. "Where is your companion?" she asks. 

"Well, seeing as we're all adults, we don't have a companion."  I follow
the cane taps leaving the stranger alone to ponder the miracle happening
before her eyes. 

"The freak show's out.  Everyone should grab their camera," Audra says
as I approach the table.  

We all quietly chuckle. We don't mean to be rude, but we are all use to
this reaction when in public.  The amazing blind people who have left
the security of their homes!  Yes, I am cynical, but this has always
been a part of my character.  Encountering ridiculous ideas and outdated
attitudes towards blindness on a daily basis, keeps my cynicism fresh. 

Eight years ago I would never have thought the hardest part of being
blind was dealing with society's perceptions and attitudes.  I very
quickly adjusted to my blindness, and it is a part of who I am.  I
accept it just as I accept the color of my hair or my inability to solve
a math equation quickly.  I am no more amazing than anyone else, but
because I do things without vision, it suddenly makes me exceptional.

It is difficult to be around people, not because I am blind, but because
others usually have problems accepting me as a person and not as a blind
person.  Sometimes, I would rather spend time with children because they
have an inate ability to trust and not doubt because of a perceived
reality. 

My favorite past time these days is spending time with my nephew and
nieces.  I must have the baby bug or something-- the biological clock
and all.  They bring joy to my life, and yes, I must admit, I talk
endlessly about them. 

Caiden is seven and a bit too smart for his own good.  Chloe is five and
extremely independent, but she loves with her whole heart.  Kensley is
two, and she has the sweetest temperament, but every now and then, she
gets a wild, mischievious glimmer in her eyes.  Penny is one and full of
energy, but I have become a surrogate mother to her. I have watched them
evolve from tiny beings, into real people, and it is through them I see
where the future can lie. 

I am often met with dubious stares and hesitant concerns when people
find out that I frequently watch my nephew and nieces. 

"How could you watch children?" 

"Isn't it difficult?" 

"Can blind people do that?" 

I hear these questions repeatedly, and depending on my mood, I respond
accordingly.  I do not believe how insulting people can be.  

When I take the kids to the park or the mall or on a walk, people
usually think the kids are guiding me around.  Yes, a seven-year-old,
five-year-old, two-year-old and a baby guide me.  We would all be dead.


I wonder if people think about what they say. 

The kids never question my abilities.  Blindness is normal to them.  My
actions speak volumes to Caiden, Chloe, Kensley and Penny.  We think
children have mental limitations, but they understand what adults can
not.  My babies accept me and do not doubt their safety with me. 

Caiden loves to play video games.  I think he is a bit young for this,
but what do adults know, right?  If allowed, he would play all day long.


Once, my mom was watching the kids, and in an attempt to get Caiden to
stop the game and play outside, she told him, "If you play too many
video games you will go blind." 

Caiden's response was, "Grandma, it's not a big deal to be blind.  Look
at Aunt Bridgy." 

With these words, I realize the impact I have on my nephew and nieces.
They are the beginning of a generation that can break the stereotypes
about blindness.  The efforts I make seem so small, but through these
children, I know the effect is lasting. 

Recently Chloe has taken to walking around with her eyes closed because
she, "Wants to be like Aunt Bridgy." Every time she is at my house, she
insists on using a white cane to walk around with.  She is also
fascinated with Braille and wants to learn this tactile form of print.
Every where she goes, she points out signs that have Braille on them.
She has no fear.  To Chloe, blindness is just another way to "be." 

Children are not caught up in their perceptions, but will believe what
you tell them at face value.  Exposure to me has allowed my nephew and
nieces to learn and understand that life does not stop after blindness.
Diversity is wide, and children accept people for who they are.  My
children accept me as capable and confident-the way they view other
adults in their lives.  In their eyes, I am no different, and there is
no thought of limitations. 

Kensley and Penny are still grasping the fact that I do not respond to
visual cues, like nodding their heads.  Both have quickly adjusted to
finding other means in which to express their wants. When wanting to be
held, they come to me and place their arms around my legs.  When they
want to show me something like a toy, they place it in my hands. Kensley
and Penny do not question my ability to care for them.  To them, I am
comfort, I am love, I am security, and of course I am food!  

Sometimes, I pin a small bell to the back of their clothing so I know
where they are, but usually their gibber-gabber gives their location
away.  As Penny and Kensley learn to speak, they will understand that
they must use their words, and not gestures, to communicate with me.
These two will grow up never thinking I am odd, or doubt that I can care
for them. 

Adults, on the other hand, do not see beyond my blindness.  The world
created a reality in which blindness is a debilitating disability
leaving one limited and to be pitied.  True, not everyone buys into the
antiquated stereotypes, and not everyone believes me inferior, but, in
my experience, most people still cling to old notions. 

I was leaving campus one day, and a man approached me from behind and
declared, "You are amazing!"  I knew what he meant, but I acted as
though I had no clue. 

"What do you mean?" I asked. 

"You get around so well.  It is truly amazing you can walk." 

"Thanks, but I am blind, not paralyzed." 

"I just mean it is amazing you don't run into stuff." 

"If I didn't use this cane I would."  I proceeded down the steps of the
fine arts building. Following behind me, he seemed poised to capture a
blind person out of their natural environment. 

I looked up as I felt snow fall lightly on my head and face.  "Wow, it's
snowing again?" 

"See, you're amazing!  How do you know it's snowing?  It must be your
sixth sense." 

"No, I feel it.  Can't you?" 

Diplomacy is the usual route I take, but there are times when I can no
longer deal with the attitudes forced on me.  I try to educate-I try to
be positive, but watch out if you catch me on a bad day.

I stood, a few months ago,  waiting at the curb to cross the street.
Listening to the traffic on Center street in front of me, and the
traffic on Paddock road to my right, I prepare to cross.  As a person
who is blind, I listen to the sound of traffic to help me cross a
street, and yes, it is safe to do this.  Still not sure?  How many
sighted people get into accidents?  I rest my case. 

Once the light changes, it won't stay green long, and I must zip across.
I wait and wait and wait-the red light (red as in I have the right-away)
is a freakin' fifteen-seconds long, but when traffic has the green, I
stand here forever.  I checked the time, three o' clock on the dot.
Come on.  I tapped my long white cane on the pavement out of boredom. 

Suddenly, I'm grabbed by the elbow from behind.  With cars on Center
Street still zooming by, a crazed pedestrian forces me into oncoming
traffic.  I could not stop, so I continue this farce as this Crazy Carla
dragged me across the street.  Cars whizzed and rumbled by, and I had no
choice but to keep truckin'. 

Reaching the other side, I slapped the strangers hand away and shouted,
"What the hell are you doing?" 

"Are you good?" Crazy Carla asked, ignoring my question. 

"Are you insane?  You can see, right?  Clearly we did not have the
right-away.  Shit!" 

Crazy Carla, who, I swore,  was about to meet her fate back out on
Center street , tried grabbing my arm again. 

Grabbing her wrist, I asked, "Do I know you?  No, so what gives you the
idea I want a complete stranger touching me?" 

"Can you make it home from here?" 

I stared in her direction.  Is she deaf? 

"Uh, I think I'm good.  How the hell do you think I was getting around
before you, like a maniac, drove me across the street?" 

"Have a good day.  Ya' sure you can get home okay?" 

Throwing my backpack down, I shouted, "O-H MY GOD!  Fuck you!"  Grabbing
my bag, I turned and stomped towards my apartment complex. 

No, I am not proud of such outburst, but I don't accept the perceptions
society has constructed about blindness either.  I, who was safely and
cautiously waiting to cross a busy city street, was assumed incapable by
a sighted person who threw caution to the wind and placed me, and
themselves, into a dangerous situation.  Instead of thinking, "Hmm, this
person is blind, but they are out and about on their own, they must be
okay-they must know what they are doing," they only "see" the blind girl
standing alone and do not get past that thought.

My friends all have similar stories.  We are seven people enjoying each
other's company, but because we are all blind, it is considered the
event of the century. We range in age from twenty-five to thirty-five,
some of us have children, all of us work, but it is an awesome
accomplishment that we are socializing without a sighted companion.  

It is even more incredible that our conversation sounds like any other
conversation.  This confuses our server as the girls talk about what to
do at the mall, and the guys talk about the football game playing on the
television. 

"You're all blind, right?" he asks. 

Seven voices chorus, "Yes."

Message: 4
Date: Wed, 16 Feb 2011 09:05:46 -0800
From: Darian Smith <dsmithnfb at gmail.com>
Subject: [nabs-l] Philosiphy in society
Message-ID:
	<AANLkTikL2J4zOC0PFjwZqC2v+UyOnOPxaKM791A3+vdZ at mail.gmail.com>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1

Hi all,
  So, I was thinking about how  what we learn in the NFb can translate
into society.  For example,  socializing, we want to be considered as
"normal" as the next person, but often we are asked the  general
blindness related questions, not  ina bad way, but because people don't
understand something and want to know  what we do.  How do people deal
with this?  Say, you really had a long day, and the last thing  you want
to hear is something related to blindness, but the grammys were on, and
you wouldn't mind talking about  how a certain pop star finally didn't
win something *smile*.  Or,  you have the weel-meaning person trying to
direct you somewhere, when you've made it clear  that you do not require
said assistance? How do you  handle this without getting  fairly annoyed
and/or taking
it to be more serious than it's  simply ment.   I know we talk about
the  importance of educating the public, yet   the equil importance of
stressing normality.   How have people handled  these ideas?  How does
one  operate keeping in mind the ideas of both living one's life and
keep in mind the next blind person that comes along?

    Darian