Laying the Groundwork for Independence

Laying the Groundwork for Independence

Future Reflections Fall 1988, Vol. 7 No. 3
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LAYING THE GROUNDWORK FOR
INDEPENDENCE
by Barbara Walker
Editor's Note: The following speech was given
at the July 2 Parents Seminar at the 1988 National
Federation of the Blind convention in Chicago.
Barbara Walker was one of three panalists who
spoke on the topic: "Laying the Groundwork: Independence
for the Blind Infant, Toddler, and
Preschooler."
When my son John, at the age of three, said he
wanted some fruitcake that had been in the
refrigerator for quite awhile, I said: "Just a
minute, please. I need to see what kind of shape it's in." His response was immediate: "It's in a rectangle
shape, and I want some." And he was right.
It was. Chalk up one more reminder of how
literally children interpret and respond to their
world.
I have always been blind. My sister, Laurie, is also
blind. Our older brother, Lani, isn't. There was,
to our parents knowledge, no history of blindness
in our family. Concerning my sister, the doctors
said they didn't know the cause of blindness, but
thought there was probably a one in a thousand
chance of recurrence. Since I arrived--blind--
fourteen months later, either I'm one in a
thousand, or they did't know what they were talking
about. All of us are now grown, married, and
have children--none of whom is blind.
In dealing with the subject of laying the
groundwork for blind youngsters, I draw from my
own childhood and the raising of my own
children who are currently seven and four-and-a
half. My message is, as are most things of consequence,
easier to say than to live. It is simply that
parents should have equal expectations, in vital
life functions and goals, of blind and sighted
children; and, more importantly, should cultivate
equal expectations in the children themselves.
But what exactly does this mean? Let me be
specific.
A moment ago, I mentioned my son's response
to my use of the word "shape." That incident and
many others continue to help him define that and
other words. One word which is very important
to help youngsters define is "blind." As a child, the
first phrase of definition I internalized about
blindness was that I didn't see very well. At a very
early age I knew that to not do something well
was not good. It may seem like an exercise in
semantic game-playing, but if you really thing
about it, most of us would rather affirm that we
are a certain way or have a certain characteristic
than accentuate the inability to do something
well. I think this is especially true of characteristics
which are beyond our control. A child who is
told that he/she doesn't see very well may try
desperately to do it better, especially if doing so
would please his/her parents. A child who is told
that he/she is blind will, most likely ask: "What's
blind?" in the same way anything else might be
questioned. Your response, not only in words,
but also through your attitudes and actions, will
set the stage for your child's life.
So what does blind mean?
It means that, in varying degrees, you
don't receive information directly through
your own eyes.
So what does blind mean? It means that, in varying
degrees, you don't receive information
directly through your own eyes. It does not,
however, mean that you can't get that information.
Obviously, telling an infant this in words
won't affect him/her any more than tellin him/her
that he/she is first or tenth-born, a boy or a girl, a
blessing or a burden, etc. It is primarily through
your attitude and actions that your baby will learn
about him/herself and the world.
So, what are blind babies like? If my sister and I
were typical, and I believe we were, it would be
as impossible to generalize about blind babies as
it is to do so about any babies. My sister, from
what I remember Mom telling me, crawled,
walked, and talked at about the same time as
neighbor kids her age. She ran away from home
more than once while still in diapers, handled
everything she could get to, was adept with her
fingers, questioned incessantly, and insisted on a
prominent place in the world. I, on the other
hand, neither walked nor talked until I was about
two, showed little visible evidence that I was particularly
curious about my environment, and was
clumsy and awkward with my hands and body- breaking many things with which I came into contact.
As
toddlers and preschoolers, we continued to
show contrasts. Laurie, at age two, walked along
the piano reaching up to pick out melodies on the
keybooard. She generally chose gentle play-- interacting
with others, real or imaginary--and was
afraid of high slides, going on carnival rides, and
the like. I loved rough play--wrestling, running
hard, swinging and/or climbing high, flipping
over and off of bars, throwing and catching balls,
etc.- -and I loved high slides, carnival rides, and
the like.
I could go on and on, but I hope my point is clear.
Blind babies, toddlers, preschoolers~in fact all
blind children, youth, and adults--have as wide a
range of interests, abilities, and approaches to
life as do others, even when raised in the same
family. As I mentioned before, there was no
known history of blindness in our family. Mom
and Dad knew nothing about blindness. They
struggled with stereotypes as all of us do, but their
hope for us was the same as that for our brother
-that we would eventually be contributing and
fulfilled adults, no longer needing or wanting to
live under their care.
Mom, the more verbally expressive of our
parents, said there were many times when she
didn't understand how we would or could do
things, and it scared her to have us try. But she
didn't stand in our way. She learned Braille so
that we could correspond privately. She persistently
went to bat for us when we were left out or
mistreated--not in ways which made us dependent
upon her, but in ways which preserved respect
and dignity for everyone, and provided us with
experience in everything from fielding questions
to finding alternative methods for doing things
ordinarily done with the use of sight.
Dad showed his acceptance of us in other ways.
He showed us how things worked. He pointed out
nonvisual qualities of things generally perceived
visually, like the contrasting cool and hot pavement
where his shadow passed. He made us doll
cribs and a playhouse; punch pillows; and shelves
that would accommodate Braille books. (For
those of you who are unfamiliar with punch pillows,
or who may know them by another name,
they are flat cushions with a solid bottom used for
tracing or free hand drawing with a stylus or cutter
to make raised-line pictures or cutouts.) Dad
also took me fishing, showed me how to shoot
baskets, and encouraged my interests in competitive
sports.
My sister and I were given hands-on experiences
whenever their availability and our interests
coincided. I was a very shy child, and sometimes
my self consciousness prevented me from taking
full advantage of these opportunities. If Laurie
was along, I generally asked her later about
whatever we had seen, and she would explain it
in detail--sometimes creating a replica to show
me.
Underlying all of these things were our parents'
respect for us as people and their encouragement
toward our finding a place in society--not a
pigeonhole created by them or anyone else, but
a place we would earn as others do. That genuine
attitude of respect and affirmation of our worth
and dignity did more than all the experiences and
skills combined in allowing us to grow and become
contributing members of society. Laying
the attitudinal groundwork does have results. I
think an example from my recent past will illustrate.
One
morning last month, as I was dropping my
children off at their Vacation Bible School rooms
and heading down to teach the fifth- and sixth
graders, one of my daughter's teachers stopped
me in the hall. She said that when the first- and second-grade class was talking about Jesus helping
disadvantaged people, the other teacher in
the room had asked Marsha what she does to help
her disabled parents. (Both my husband and I are
blind.) Marsha hesitated, and the teacher relating
the incident to me told Marsha she could pass.
At that point, Marsha said something like: "This
spring, when Mom had her appendix taken out, I
helped her pick things up off the floor, carry
things, and get things she needed." Marsha,
whose seventh birthday is today, just completed
first grade. She is certainly aware that we do some
things differently. But if this response is a reflection
of her perception of life (and I have every
reason to believe that it is), she doesn't, at this
point, equate these differences with disadvantages,
either for herself or for us.
I'm not intending to imply that my family no
longer struggles with the consequences of blindness,
both real and imagined. We do, as does
everyone who either is blind or associates with
the blind. But I am saying that if we lay the
groundwork well--that is, if we provide equal, although
no necessarily identical, opportunities to
blind and sighted youngsters (for example:
Braille rather than print, a model rather than a
one-dimensional picture, verbal rather that
visual instruction to be imitated, etc.); and if we
see blindness as a characteristic rather than a
handicap, living our lives in such a way that the
inconveniences blindness causes are seen as
nuisances, (no more, no less) ~ our children,
from babyhood on, will internalize that attitude
and the result will be that we will raise blind and
sighted children who will expect to live and work
as equals, and our society will change. You and I,
both singly and as a unified voice in the National
Federation of the Blind, have the opportunity to
share in that exciting process.
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