Focus on Success the Dream, the Desire, and the Strategy

Focus on Success the Dream, the Desire, and the Strategy

Braille MonitorMay-June 1986
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Focus on Success the Dream, the Desire, and the Strategy
by Gary Wunder
JOB (Job Opportunities for the Blind)
is one of the most successful programs
the National Federation of the Blind has
ever established. There are many reasons
why this is so, but one of the most
important is the quality of volunteer
leadership we bring to the effort. Gary
Wunder is a prime example. He is the
President of the National Federation of
the Blind of Missouri and a member of
the Board of Directors of the National
Federation of the Blind. He is also
perceptive and practical. Here is what
he said at the JOB seminar in St. Louis
March 1, 1986.
When I began my college education the
questions I heard repeated every single
day were "What is the meaning of life?
Why are we really here? What's it all
about anyway?" We did not ask the questions
simply because their utterance
made us feel like one of the crowd,
although they did. We did not ask simply because the high sounding nature of
the questions might make us feel mature,
although they did. We asked because
each of us had a purpose, and that purpose
was to be a success. We reasoned
that there was no way to be successful
without understanding what it was we
were to achieve, no way to pursue a goal
that was invisible, a goal which defied
being defined.
I cannot say whether it was the atmosphere
of higher education, the obsession
with theory, or our preoccupation with
words and language. But the end result
for most of us was that we either could
not define the meaning of life and what
it took to be successful, or our definitions
were so long and cumbersome, so
qualified, and filled with so many disclaimers
that we managed to struggle
through four or five years of education,
living from day to day, reacting rather
than molding, until at the end of our
education we found ourselves again asking
the same old questions. This time,
however, we could not take comfort in
the rationalization that we were just
young college kids trying to find ourselves
and that, after all, we still had
two or three years before we had to
declare our life's calling.
Although searching for meaning and
success is hard enough for any young
adult, it is made even more difficult
for blind people. Growing up as a blind
child presents one with many contradictions
which we are unable or unwilling
to solve. Many of us have been extremely
overprotected. From the beginning
we are praised for the most minor
accomplishments. While we tell ourselves
all this praise means we are
really quite super, deep in our souls we
know that what is being said is how
little we can do and how little will be
expected. We may tell ourselves we
reject the expectations of others and
that we regard them as an insult to our
ability, but over time we tend to do
only what is expected. If the school
counselor believes that taking four
courses is heroic, we find it convenient
to take three courses and four study
halls, which we use to read a spare time
book or to daydream.
Add to lower expectations and the
temptation to take advantage of them the
fact that blind people do not have other
blind people to watch and imitate. Instead
of realizing how tragic this situation
is, we make a virtue of it.
Taking at least some of the exaggerated
praise for small deeds to heart, we come
to believe (and are proud of the fact)
that we are not like other blind people,
that we are quite exceptional--for a
blind person. The compliments inflate
our ego on the outside, but they also
shape and limit our perception of what
blind people can achieve.
Regardless of how seriously we take
the compliments of others and how superior
we may feel, at the gut level we
know that being compared to other blind
people provides no real yardstick by
which to measure our progress or potential.
When one grows up with constant
references to the sighted world, how can
comparisons to other blind persons provide
more than an occasional defense
against the thought that one's best
efforts may not be enough in the end.
It is said that seventy percent of the
blind are unemployed. That statistic
can't bring much comfort to those of us
in this room--be we parents of blind
children, blind job seekers, or blind
children just beginning an education.
Much of why we are here today has to do
with finding a solution to this problem.
For parents with blind children: Your
challenge is to raise your children in a
manner which will cause them to reject,
by virtue of their experience and the
experiences of those around them, the
notion that to be blind is an insurmountable
barrier to living a normal,
happy life. This means that you must
first come to believe it and be aware of
things which can block or erode positive
attitudes in your children.
For the blind child: Your challenge
is to learn as much as you can and to
always look to the future. You must
work at understanding that what may be
an easy way to get out of things today
will hurt you tomorrow. You must understand
that many of your friends and
neighbors will not know what it is like
to be blind. Sometimes they will ask
you to do things you cannot do, but most
likely they will try to keep you from
doing things which you can and should be
doing. You must be strong in demanding
that you be given a chance, and you must
be even stronger in seeing that you do
not take advantage of people by getting
them to do things for you which you know
you can and should do for yourself.
For the blind job seeker: Your challenge
is, perhaps, the hardest of all.
Your task is likely to be humiliating,
regardless of how many pitfalls you
manage to avoid in growing up as a blind
child. Even if you are the most competent
blind person God has ever placed on
this earth, you will face people day in
and day out who will doubt your ability
to work in their place of business. You
will be turned down for interviews without
a stated reason, and you will suspect
that attitudes about blindness are
the culprit. You will be interviewed by
persons who consider themselves especially
enlightened and these people will
be quick to tell you that blindness
means nothing to them. They will avoid
asking you the questions which, if answered,
might make the difference between
a "yes" and a "no." As if that
weren't enough, keep looking and you'll
undoubtedly find someone who will tell
you that he knows about blind people,
that he has seen the blind in action,
and that his grandmother did remarkable
things for herself though she could
barely see to read a book. When he
thinks of you for a job, he'll think of
that woman straining to pour a cup of
coffee. He'll think of how well she
traveled (around the yard, of course),
and he'll wonder (without asking) how
you will get to work on your own and how
you will traverse his lunchroom. He may
have good intentions, but in the end he is likely to conclude that hiring you
would place an unfair strain on his
other employees. Meeting the needs of
his grandmother was a family obligation,
one which has nothing to do with business.
I
do not intend to sound harsh or to
leave any of you with a negative impression.
The people who will conduct interviews
are not cruel, hostile, or
uncaring. They simply do not understand,
and anyone looking for a job
should know that he may meet many rejections
which have nothing at all to do
with his competence or interviewing
skills.
I want to move now to the most difficult
part of my remarks. I want to talk
specifically with those of you who are
job seekers, or potential job seekers,
and who know that your skills are limited to such a degree that you question,
in the privacy of your own thoughts,
your ability to earn a salary. One of
the most critical judgments you must
make is whether your lack of success has
to do with the attitudes I mentioned a
moment ago, or whether a significant
reason for it has something to do with
your level of competence. Certainly
none of us is competent at everything,
but it is equally true that all of us
must be competent in a variety of areas
in order to get and hold a job.
I want to relate some rather personal
information to make my point and to show
that I'm not just talking in generalities
about someone else. When I started
college I was scared stiff. I was the
only person in my family ever to have
the opportunity to go, and this fact was
repeated to me at least one hundred
times in all the goodbyes that preceded
my enrollment. People had always known
I'd go away to school. They never
talked much about what I might do after
college but that I would do well was
never a question in their minds.
What they couldn't know was all the
shortcuts I had taken and all the times
I had been given a better than equal
opportunity for a grade, if not for real
learning. People liked me and, besides,
they didn't really know much about
teaching me. I was the expert, and when
I realized it, that's when the fun really
began. Being the expert meant that I
dictated the terms of testing, negotiated
how fast I could work, bargained
about how letter perfect my papers had
to be because, after all, I couldn't see
the work. At the time I didn't think of
it as intentionally sliding by. I
thought what was expected was reasonable
and, besides, how bad could the consequences
be?
College was going to be different. No
one knew me. Would they make the same
kind of allowances? With five hundred
students to the class, these people
might not even know I was blind or take
the time to admire all my great effort
which might make the difference between
one letter grade and the next. I hadn't
always done well on achievement tests.
What if one really needed to know all
they tested for to make it in college?
What I found was both uplifting and
somehow depressing. On the one hand, I
had to work hard for my grades, and I
found that I had the talent. On the
other hand, there were still escape
hatches where I could avoid responsibility.
I could even pay other people to
take that responsibility for me. If
only this service had been available in
high school, I told myself. Did I pay
people to do my papers or attend classes
for me. No, but I did pay them to type
my papers, and in so doing got them to
spell and punctuate material which was
then graded, in some part, on their
skill and not my own. I attended classes
faithfully, but in some I hired the
best students I could and paid them to
take my notes. I wasn't competent
enough, or so I thought, to do it myself.
If money had been made available,
blind people must need this service.
There's nothing wrong with hiring a
typist or someone to write a note, but
honesty is demanded of those who intend
to be successful. I'm not saying that
blind people who get jobs are more
honest than those who don't, or that
honesty is some virtue which ought to be
especially cultivated by people who are
blind. I'm simply paraphrasing that
tired old phrase that there's no such
thing as a free lunch. What one finds
easy now will cost him dearly later.
Luckily for me, I found something I
really wanted to do, and it made me take
chances I would never have considered
taking for anything else. I was offered
an opportunity to get training in the
field of electronics, something I had
dreamed of all my life but which I had
ruled out as unrealistic long before.
In order to qualify for the program, I
had to take twelve hours of math, something
which scared me to death. I had
to take chemistry, though I had avoided
the sciences in college, believing that
I could not handle the formulas and the
diagrams. I had to take physics, meaning
more math, lab work, etc.
It turns out that I do not now work in
the field of electronics and, in fact, I
decided before graduation that I would
not. My goal had been to be a teacher.
I reasoned, rightly or wrongly, that I
could not run a shop or my own because
maintaining a Brailled diagram for each
and every electronic gadget I might be
asked to fix would be impossible. My
resolve to educate the young men and
women of America grew all through preparing
for classes, and then I learned,
much to my displeasure, that my best
teachers were men and women who had
worked in industry. My worst teachers
were those who could only recite paragraphs
in my textbook.
What I gained from my experience was
the knowledge that I could do things I
had thought impossible for me. I
learned that I was truly a person capable
of being competent. I found having
to take high school math courses in
college a bit humiliating, but I also
found that it was less humiliating to
admit that I needed to gain competence
than it was to feign competence, knowing
all the while that my words were empty
and that they would betray me to anyone
who wanted to pursue a conversation.
I'm reminded of the amateur musician who
knows the first few bars to several
difficult pieces. He plays these without
seeming to care whether he finishes
or not, but though you press him as long
as you wish, he will never complete the
piece, for he cannot.
While there is a great deal of discrimination
against the blind in employment
today, there are also many barriers
which are not our fault, but the failure
to get one now rests squarely with us.
It is not easy to admit that at thirty
one does not really know or understand
the rules of grammar, but failing to
admit it will mean that at forty the
same problem still persists. For far
too many of us, experience teaches us to
sharpen our defenses, to protect ourselves
against those who have legitimate
concerns about our abilities. Far too
often it is easier for us to proclaim
beliefs in words which are not reflected
in our daily lives. No one is deceived,
not even ourselves, but every lie or
untrue inference we make takes us one
step away from doing what we need to do.
There are many opportunities open to
those of us who will take them. For
learning the skills of blindness there
are rehabilitation centers, for education
there are night classes, and for
knowledge in almost any area of endeavor
there are books. The facilities for
education and rehabilitation may be
lacking in many areas we consider essential,
but they offer to us a place to
begin.
In the National Federation of the
Blind we have vowed to fight discrimination wherever and whenever it occurs.
There are two things we require: one is
the resources with which to take swift
and positive action, and the other is to
have competent and capable people who
deserve the opportunities we seek. I
hope this seminar will help to strengthen
us in both areas. Through your understanding
of our programs I hope to
gain resources, your money, your time,
and your commitment to our cause. I
also hope this semianr makes it clear
that there are opportunities, rights,
and chances for success. There is also
a price to pay for each. I would like
to leave you with the words from one of
my favorite songs:
"You know good dreams don't come
cheap, you have to pay for them. If you
just dream when you're asleep, there is
no way for them to come alive, to survive."
All
of us (children, parents, and
students) can help each other with those
dreams. It is our choice whether to
react to life passively or to mold each
day into what we want it to be. Think;
learn; understand what you can about
blindness, and appreciate the wonderful
opportunity given to each of us who is
blessed by being alive. (back)(contents)(next)