1. Eat with His Hands
So, shoot me. He’s five. He sits wonderfully at the table, wipes his hands on a napkin (that’s either tucked into his pants or lost forever after one use) and says please and thank you like a champion. He has amazing table manners for a kid his age…if you can overlook the fact that he’s slowly, but steadily, shoveling everything on his plate, into his mouth, with his fingers. Yep. Everything. Baked beans, mushrooms, spaghetti, rice, mashed potatoes, tomatoes, chicken cutlet, scrambled eggs – you name it. The other night he was clutching a chicken drumstick in one hand, had two olives fisted in the other and was covered in ketchup from the nose down. His Grandfather was appalled. I took a picture.
There is an event called ‘Dinner in the Dark’ that most Foundations of Blindness host. It’s a night where loved ones of blind people can experience a night in the life of the blind. The guests who successfully make it through the evening (it’s pitch black in the dining hall) look like victims of a demon driven food fight, while the blind people are still rather spiffy. My boy will have to muddle through a whole life of awkwardly eating within the confines of social acceptability, using ‘special’ utensils and being told where the food on his plate is located. We’ll get to that when we get to that. For now, it warms my heart every time I hear, “Oh Mommy, this is delicious!” uttered from his sweet, food encrusted face.
2. Walk Without a Stick
What can I say? He hates it. Seriously. He wants to throw it in the garbage, throw it in the ocean, feed it to a shark, burn it, turn it into a ghost and once suggested I bake it in the oven. I am stubborn, therefore I know stubborn. The more I try and force it, the more he’ll dig his heels in and refuse it. So he stumbles blindly and merrily along his way and when he is forced to walk with the cane, he drags it behind him (still stumbling blindly along) listlessly with the somber affect of a death row inmate about to walk down that long, last hall.
The cane has been a very useful took since its inception. However, it has its limitations. Street signs, overhanging table tops and sneaky uneven sidewalks… it’s a crapshoot for him regardless. I’m not that worried. One day soon there’ll be an app for that.
3. Play Just Like Any Other Kid
We go to a new play ground. I show him around once. We count the steps to the slide, we count the steps to the slide, we slide, we check out the next attraction. After that he’s physically on his own, but I’m directing from a few feet away. Sometimes park security personnel advise me that I am not a child and escort me off the play area, to a bench.
Amidst looks of pity and concern, from other parents, I (loudly) tell him what's in front of him and encourage him to run and play.. To suck every second out of his dirt covered little boyhood. He’s got to twist a swing and spin out of control while shrieking that he’s the Tazmanian Devil. He’s got to run up the slide . He’s got to RUN. Sometimes he falls. And I have to let him. Constantly, I’m out there peeking through my fingers, heart in throat, when he shouts, “Mom, look at me!” and shows me some wild new bit of daredevilry, but -again- he doesn’t know that. By the time I have to comment on his performance, my heart rate has slowed, and I tell him to do it again.
4. Use the Verb; See
Ok, so he can’t see. But that doesn’t stop me from asking, “You see what you did?” It’s a valuable word and there is no reason to discriminate against it just because it doesn’t specifically apply. He tells people he’ll see them later. Says, ‘let me see it’. Declares, ‘Oh, I see.’ Whatever. He knows he’s blind. He knows he can’t really see. It’s just a word. If he ever says, Let’s see if I can take this car from 0 to 80 in 3.6’ then I’ll worry.
5. Touch Everything
I take him everywhere and let him check out everything. All the fruit in the grocery store, all the shoes in the shoe store, little old ladies walkers, the mall Easter Bunny’s glasses, Baptismal Fonts, bugs, birds, babies. Nothing is safe from us. I’m shameless. I make puppy eyes at terrified music store owners while promising that we’ll be super careful while manhandling their banjos. I’ll accost anyone, with anything, that I think will be a valuable teaching tool.
We spend hours sniffing scented candles, pawing through discounted merchandise bins, and drive the iemployees mad at the Apple store. We happily make spectacles out of ourselves. This is the one occasion in life that I’ll shamelessly play the blind card. “Well, my little boy can’t see, so do you mind if we check-out your new Hummer? He’s never seen one before.”
So, shoot me. He’s five. He sits wonderfully at the table, wipes his hands on a napkin (that’s either tucked into his pants or lost forever after one use) and says please and thank you like a champion. He has amazing table manners for a kid his age…if you can overlook the fact that he’s slowly, but steadily, shoveling everything on his plate, into his mouth, with his fingers. Yep. Everything. Baked beans, mushrooms, spaghetti, rice, mashed potatoes, tomatoes, chicken cutlet, scrambled eggs – you name it. The other night he was clutching a chicken drumstick in one hand, had two olives fisted in the other and was covered in ketchup from the nose down. His Grandfather was appalled. I took a picture.
There is an event called ‘Dinner in the Dark’ that most Foundations of Blindness host. It’s a night where loved ones of blind people can experience a night in the life of the blind. The guests who successfully make it through the evening (it’s pitch black in the dining hall) look like victims of a demon driven food fight, while the blind people are still rather spiffy. My boy will have to muddle through a whole life of awkwardly eating within the confines of social acceptability, using ‘special’ utensils and being told where the food on his plate is located. We’ll get to that when we get to that. For now, it warms my heart every time I hear, “Oh Mommy, this is delicious!” uttered from his sweet, food encrusted face.
2. Walk Without a Stick
What can I say? He hates it. Seriously. He wants to throw it in the garbage, throw it in the ocean, feed it to a shark, burn it, turn it into a ghost and once suggested I bake it in the oven. I am stubborn, therefore I know stubborn. The more I try and force it, the more he’ll dig his heels in and refuse it. So he stumbles blindly and merrily along his way and when he is forced to walk with the cane, he drags it behind him (still stumbling blindly along) listlessly with the somber affect of a death row inmate about to walk down that long, last hall.
The cane has been a very useful took since its inception. However, it has its limitations. Street signs, overhanging table tops and sneaky uneven sidewalks… it’s a crapshoot for him regardless. I’m not that worried. One day soon there’ll be an app for that.
3. Play Just Like Any Other Kid
We go to a new play ground. I show him around once. We count the steps to the slide, we count the steps to the slide, we slide, we check out the next attraction. After that he’s physically on his own, but I’m directing from a few feet away. Sometimes park security personnel advise me that I am not a child and escort me off the play area, to a bench.
Amidst looks of pity and concern, from other parents, I (loudly) tell him what's in front of him and encourage him to run and play.. To suck every second out of his dirt covered little boyhood. He’s got to twist a swing and spin out of control while shrieking that he’s the Tazmanian Devil. He’s got to run up the slide . He’s got to RUN. Sometimes he falls. And I have to let him. Constantly, I’m out there peeking through my fingers, heart in throat, when he shouts, “Mom, look at me!” and shows me some wild new bit of daredevilry, but -again- he doesn’t know that. By the time I have to comment on his performance, my heart rate has slowed, and I tell him to do it again.
4. Use the Verb; See
Ok, so he can’t see. But that doesn’t stop me from asking, “You see what you did?” It’s a valuable word and there is no reason to discriminate against it just because it doesn’t specifically apply. He tells people he’ll see them later. Says, ‘let me see it’. Declares, ‘Oh, I see.’ Whatever. He knows he’s blind. He knows he can’t really see. It’s just a word. If he ever says, Let’s see if I can take this car from 0 to 80 in 3.6’ then I’ll worry.
5. Touch Everything
I take him everywhere and let him check out everything. All the fruit in the grocery store, all the shoes in the shoe store, little old ladies walkers, the mall Easter Bunny’s glasses, Baptismal Fonts, bugs, birds, babies. Nothing is safe from us. I’m shameless. I make puppy eyes at terrified music store owners while promising that we’ll be super careful while manhandling their banjos. I’ll accost anyone, with anything, that I think will be a valuable teaching tool.
We spend hours sniffing scented candles, pawing through discounted merchandise bins, and drive the iemployees mad at the Apple store. We happily make spectacles out of ourselves. This is the one occasion in life that I’ll shamelessly play the blind card. “Well, my little boy can’t see, so do you mind if we check-out your new Hummer? He’s never seen one before.”
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