One Doughnut or Two

by Jessica Reed

From the Editor: Jessica Reed is the mother of two children and the coordinator of the blind parents group of Virginia. She has been a Federationist for almost sixteen years, and in her Federation work she has worn many hats. She currently serves as the first vice president of her local Fredericksburg, Virginia, chapter. Here is what she says:

It is hard for me to believe that I have been in this organization for about fifteen years now. I often feel I have so much more to learn, but memory is ephemeral. As much as each talk has been inspiring, I am a pessimist, which I like to refer to as realist. I am not and nor will I ever be “super blind.” Throughout each talk I sit and wonder what little me can take away.

There has been one talk in particular though that I have ruminated on now for over ten years. I was in my early twenties at the time, and the thought of having my own children was little more than a future dream. Dr. Maurer was speaking to a small group of us at the national center in Baltimore. As only part of his talk, he recounted a short story while on Christmas vacation with his family in New York City. After viewing the glittering lights of the famous Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, as they made their way back to the hotel, Dr. Maurer mapped the route in his head and realized there was a shortcut. To his surprise, his son (about thirteen) stopped dead in his tracks. He argued that the family should stay with the map. He was more than a little nervous to divert from the beaten path. Dr. Maurer recognized that there was a significant kink in the chain of trust he and Mrs. Maurer spent a lifetime building with their children. His son clearly was panicked to follow his blind parents through an unknown route when the map showed differently. During this speech I remember the group laughing as Dr. Maurer recounted how he was pretty certain, but oh boy, did this have to work. He had to prove to both his kids that blindness had nothing to do with traveling, and even in an enormous and unfamiliar city, their blind parents were still in charge and perfectly able to expertly take care of them. With bated breath, the Maurers did indeed make it back to their hotel quicker than before. Dr. Maurer had been right, and the Maurer kids learned that they would be kids and never parental caretakers even when traveling throughout a monstrosity like New York City.

I remember soaking up every word and desperately wanting to be that type of parent. My travel is good, even very good, but to successfully embark on such an adventure seems laughable.
I became a parent in the spring of 2014. From the beginning I determined that, as much as I could prevent it, my blindness would not hold my children back from educational or adventure opportunities. My husband and I bought a home within walking distance of playgrounds, the library, countless eateries, and shops. With my husband working, we have hired drivers who drive “my” Chevy Traverse. From the beginning I have consistently taught my daughter that my being blind has nothing to do with taking good care of her and now her brother.

As she grew, so did Lila’s recognition and understanding that Mama couldn’t see. It wasn’t until age five, however, that Lila and I truly faced our first Mama blind test. It was a warm sunshiny Virginia morning. Lila was thrilled when I suggested we go on a rare mommy-daughter date without her little brother to get doughnuts at our local doughnut shop. I just really wanted coffee. We headed down the sidewalk like we had countless times before. When we reached the first intersection, Lila obediently took my hand. Instead of crossing though, she began trying to pull me to cross our parallel street. My explaining that we had one more intersection to go before turning right got us nowhere. I relented, just figuring we could dog-leg our way there. To my surprise, we had the same argument at the next intersection. Lila refused to turn left! This time my normally congenial little girl was plopped on the ground in panicked tears, insisting we go straight and not turn left. “Mama, you don’t know where you are going,” she wailed. “Your eyes are broken!”

Lila’s words could not have been more jarring. Standing there next to my screaming little girl, I knew I had to act quickly and correctly. I realized my preschooler believed she had to take care of me and get us to the doughnut shop. I equally worried that some member of the public would hear her screaming that Mama didn’t know where she was going because she couldn’t see. Swallowing my own feelings, and with Dr. Maurer’s long-ago story rushing back, I bent down to her level. In a calm voice I asked Lila if she would like one doughnut or two? Like magic, her tears stopped. I explained that if she were cooperative and followed mommy, if mommy was wrong she would get two doughnuts instead of one. With a pep in her step, Lila enthusiastically followed. Lila was twice disappointed, both because my little firecracker hates to be wrong, and the second doughnut she didn’t get left her indignantly deflated.

During our walk home that day, Lila argued all the reasons why technically we were both correct, and therefore she should still get the second doughnut. We both knew I had been correct, but most importantly my little lawyer began to trust that her mama did indeed have a clue about goings-on. I could see the wheels turning in her little mind, and I knew that my little bunny was more rested and assured in the care of her blind mother.

I see my membership in this organization as a muscle. This muscle gives me knowledge and strength to triumph over the daily challenges of being a blind person. I look forward to continuing to exercise my NFB muscle by engaging in thought-provoking discussions, reading the literature of my fellow Federationists, and soaking up all the wisdom I can from the many speakers at conventions. It is to these speakers that I wholeheartedly say thank you. You don’t always know who is listening.