[Nfbsatx] A good read

[Jose Martinez]

I ran across this article while doing some research, and I thought I
send it to the list. It is a really good read, especially coming from
one of our Federation Leaders. Enjoy

-----



I'm Partially Sighted, and I Use a White Cane
by Peggy Chong



Peggy Chong

Editor’s Note: Peggy Chong and her husband, Curtis Chong (who is also
blind), are well-known and respected leaders within the National
Federation of the Blind. Her story about how she came to use a cane
was originally published in the volume 16, number 4 issue of Future
Reflections. Here’s what she has to say:

As a very young child, I was aware that I did not see as well as the
other kids in the neighborhood. It was well-known that the family down
the block was made up of a mother and several of her children who
could not see too good. Congenital cataracts run in my family.

While I was growing up it was stressed that I should try to fit in, to
be like everyone else. What I was being told was to “look sighted.” A
graphic example of this was in church. We were always told to sing
along using the songbook, even though my sisters and I could not read
it. If I would try to read it by putting the book up to my face, a
hand would come over and move the book down to the sighted reading
distance. So, I pretended to read the songbook, to be sighted.

In my teens I knew that this was not going to work if I wanted to get
ahead in life and be happy. I had met blind adults who were working,
buying their own homes, and raising families. I wanted to have the
same happiness I saw in their lives.

A counselor from the state agency for the blind recommended shyly--and
outside of my Mother’s earshot--that I get a folding cane just for
identification purposes. She did not get me one or tell me how to use
a cane, so the topic was just dropped.

In my late teens I bought a cane and started carrying it to places
when I did not know my way around. One of my sisters was about three
at this time, and she asked my Mother, “Why does Peggy have a cane?”
My Mother’s reply was loud and meant for me to overhear. “She is
pretending to be blind.”

That hurt a lot. My Mother was blind. In fact, she had less vision
than I did at the time. But she did not want to be blind or have
anyone think that she might have difficulty seeing. She always
traveled on my Dad’s arm. Mom would not go shopping without a sighted
person. This was not what I wanted for myself. But her comment hurt so
much that it was very difficult for me to take my cane from the corner
where I parked it when I got home.

For the next ten years or more I would only take my cane when I was
traveling alone, or to a place I did not know well, or where I was
sure no one would see me who might tell my folks.

When I used my cane, people treated me better. They did not get mad
when I asked them to show me where something was in a store. Bus
drivers were friendlier when I asked what number route that bus was. I
felt less frustrated after trips I made with my cane. But because I am
a “high partial,” there was this little voice inside of me that echoed
my Mother’s words: “You’re just pretending to be blind.”

I started to do some soul searching. Why did I resist taking my cane
shopping when I knew it would be helpful? Sales clerks did not follow
me around like I was going to steal the place when they saw me looking
closely at things. I could get clerks or other customers to read the
packages for me if I was carrying my cane. There was no need for
lengthy explanations when trying to get a person behind the counter to
read me what was on the menu that hung right behind them in a fast
food restaurant.

I also took a look at what others might be thinking when they saw my
cane. It became obvious to me that there were many conflicting
emotions about blindness tied into the symbol of the cane. I found it
fascinating to discover that the most negative feelings were held by
blind people who did not use a cane, like my Mother and sisters. The
blind people that did use a cane felt good about their cane. They felt
good about themselves. But most importantly, they were the blind
people out there doing something with their lives! They were the
happy, successful blind people.

Then in 1992 I decided it was time to get some real training as a
blind person. I spent nine months at an NFB training center where I
had classes in computers, Braille, and of course, cane travel.

After graduating from BLIND, Inc. in Minneapolis, I wondered how
people would treat me now that I had decided that I was going to use a
white cane all the time when I went out. My daughter, who had just
gotten into her teens, said that it was “weird” to see me with a cane
all the time. But it didn’t seem to make that much difference to her
for very long. Now she finds my white cane helpful. Now, when she
meets me at a restaurant or large room somewhere, to save time she
just walks in and asks if there is a blind lady in there.

My blind friends thought the cane was great and gave me lots of
encouragement. Most of my sighted friends took it with a grain of
salt. The only sticky point left was my family.

My one sighted sister and her family got used to the idea in no time.
I talked to her children about why I used a cane, and it was accepted
with only a few questions.

The rest of the family were different. Some of my aunts did not
understand. They felt that my Mother had gone this long without using
a cane, surely I could go without one, too. They were embarrassed.

I have three other sisters who are also legally blind. They are
uncomfortable around my cane as though it will give them some
incurable disease. But when my cane can benefit them, well, that is
another story.

We all attended a cousin’s wedding a few years back. The wedding was
held in an old church with long, narrow, and dark halls and many
stairs. As I got there before many of my family, I was toward the
front of the church, and they were near the back. As we all do at
weddings, I stopped a minute or two to talk to relatives I hadn’t seen
in a while. When I got to the back of the church, at the top of the
stairs, there were my sisters. I stopped and looked at them for a
minute; there was a lengthy pause. I asked what we were waiting for.
One of my sisters replied, “Well you got the cane. You go first.”

My Mother was diagnosed with cancer not long after that. If she saw
the cane she always found a way to make some comment about me trying
to focus people’s sympathy on myself. I didn’t need any more emotional
upheaval in my life at that time and thought she didn’t either, so I
did not use my long, straight cane when I visited her. I took a
folding cane and put it in my purse.

That is when I noticed just how much I had gotten to depend on the
cane. Over the years my eyes have become more sensitive to light. Many
times I will close my eyes when I walk outside in the bright light. It
was difficult to walk with my eyes closed when my cane was parked in
the car. I walked slower without my cane. Stairs made me nervous.
During this time I carried a folding cane to avoid hurting my Mother.
I also became convinced that a straight cane was a much better way to
travel. Folding canes, fold! Usually right in the middle of a six-lane
intersection, or when I am carrying many things and truly need it to
find everything in my path. Now that I’m back to using a straight
cane, a folding cane is still in my purse or suitcase just in case my
straight cane breaks or if I am traveling on an airplane. But that is
about all the use I have for a folding cane.

Mom’s doctors all knew I was blind. I found that they gave me more
thorough information than they gave my sisters. I have often wanted to
ask the doctors why that was. My Mother was in denial of her cancer.
Did the doctors assume that Mom’s denial of her cancer was related to
the denial of her blindness? Did they assume that my sisters, who are
also blind but try to hide their blindness, also would not want to
deal with Mom’s cancer? When I went to the doctor appointments or to
the hospital, I found the doctors and nurses eager to talk to someone
in the family about her condition, test results, their suggestions,
and recommendations. The rest of the family reported that no one
talked to them. Looking back, I believe that my cane told the medical
professionals that I could deal with life’s frustrations successfully
and move on.

Since it has been over five years now that I have used my cane almost
everywhere, my family knows it is not a phase. I know my cane still
makes some people uncomfortable, but this is my life. I need to feel
good about myself in order to lead a happy life. If, once in a while,
someone is uncomfortable around my cane I figure they will either get
used to it, or they are probably not going to be very important in my
life for long, anyway. My cane is here to stay.