First Impressions: My Conversion into Blindness

First Impressions: My Conversion into Blindness

The Braille Monitor

November,

2003

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First

Impressions: My Conversion into Blindness

by

Joy Thomas

Joy

Thomas

From the Editor: Ordinarily

I would hold stories like the next two for the December issue, where the convention

bulletin appears. My reasoning is usually that articles recounting the powerful

impact of a national convention may help persuade a reader or two to decide

to attend the annual convention of the NFB during the following summer. With

the convention bulletin right there, such folks might just make their reservations

immediately and begin planning for the event that could change their lives.

These

stories are appearing in November because this issue also includes the announcement

of the national scholarship program for 2004. Our program is far and away the

most valuable one in the blindness field, and it is important for us all to

recognize that fact and take pride in it. But this is only the first truth to

acknowledge. Ask most scholarship winners, and they will tell you that the most

important gift they have received from the NFB scholarship program is the organization

itself and the freedom and independence one can acquire as a result of adopting

the NFB philosophy.

Joy

Thomas is a graduate student in education at Aurora University in Illinois.

She plans to teach Spanish and social studies in middle school and to get a

Ph.D. in educational policy. She is well on her way to becoming an outstanding

teacher and mentor. Here is the story of her first convention:

In every person's life

there comes a turning point where one must choose between what is true and what

has lived inside as a lie for his or her entire life. It always helps if one

knows the difference between fact and fiction when it comes time to make such

a decision. Oftentimes, realizing this difference occurs because of a particular

person or relationship. For me that person was my scholarship mentor on one

of the final days of the convention, and the relationship is with the NFB.

As

a scholarship winner new to the NFB and therefore new to the national convention,

I felt overwhelmed when I first arrived in Louisville. I had never been around

so many blind people. I felt as if I was at a busy marketplace in a foreign

country. But instead of hearing, "Potatoes--four for a dollar!" I

heard "East Tower this way! West Tower over here! Get your snack pack here!"

From

the moment I stepped off the plane, people asked what I thought of the convention.

I thought to myself, "Think of what? The convention hasn't really started."

Then it began, and I had no excuse for not having a solid answer when people

asked my opinion. Not until later did I realize people were not really asking

what I thought about a particular session or meeting. They were wondering what

I thought about the NFB's philosophy of blindness, and at the time I really

had no answer.

When

people began sharing their NFB experiences with me, many of which were reminiscent

of a religious conversion, I admit I was a bit skeptical at first. I just waited

for my own experiences in order to form my opinions.

When

I came to the convention, I naively thought that the convention began with the

first general session and of course ended on Friday with the final session.

While this may be technically true, the convention really begins when we, the

blind, first set foot in the hotel, where we share experiences, encouragement,

and a common cause.

After

a few days of speakers, seminars, and motivating conversations with Federationists,

I certainly felt energized. Yet I still did not get it. I thought I did, and

I know I tried to convince others that I did. But my Thursday mentor saw right

through me.

Since

he was speaking at one of the general sessions that day, we really had no time

to talk except during the short intermissions when door prizes were called.

Yet he took that time to lean over and say exactly what I needed to hear at

exactly the right point in my life. In a gentle yet firm way he laid it all

out for me to ponder. Knowing that I have retinitis pigmentosa and currently

have high-partial vision, he said that it might be easy to fall into the trap

of the hierarchy of sight, but chances are that I will lose more vision in the

future and therefore need to think about the way I view blindness. "If

you think of yourself as luckier or somehow better than someone who is totally

blind, what does that say about what you think of yourself compared to totally

sighted people?" That hit me--hard. Tears began to form in my eyes and

slowly roll down my cheeks--tears of regret for the times I, or another blind

person, tried to speak on behalf of the needs of blind people; tears of shame

for the many times I have tried to fake being totally sighted; tears of sadness

for the times I looked at my life as a culminating tragedy; tears of bitterness

for the times I let people make excuses and decisions for me; and tears of joy

for the freedom that I have found. It is respectable to be blind.

This

mentor also told me his own story and explained that he did not want me to end

up, like he did, at age fifty with a law practice and five kids, but with no

blindness skills. He encouraged me to seek out effective blindness training

where I am now. And he ended with "You will be okay."

And for the first time in my life, I believed it.

To

some degree I have felt inferior my entire life. I used to wonder how my life

would have been if I had had perfect sight. What accomplishments would I have

made? What different relationships would I have? What strange questions to ask

myself.

The

national convention was not about the scholarship, although I originally thought

it was. It was about the nineteen-year-old I met who had a better outlook on

blindness after being blind for four months than I have after losing vision

over twenty-five years. It was about laughing over blind-moment stories with

fellow Federationists until 4:30 a.m. It was about learning to embrace my future

instead of fear it.

So, yes, in a way I was

converted, but not to some strange religion for blind people. My outlook on

blindness was transformed, and I choose fact over fiction: blind people are

not defective sighted persons.

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