Falling

Falling

The Braille Monitor

January 2003

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Falling

by

Sheila Koenig

Sheila Koenig

From the Editor: The

following story first appeared in the Spring 2002 issue of the Minnesota

Bulletin, a publication of the NFB of Minnesota. Sheila Koenig was a tenBroek

Fellow at the 2002 convention. She is an inspiring and dedicated middle-school

English teacher. This is what she says about an important lesson that she learned:

Every

summer during my childhood my family ventured out on at least one camping trip.

My brother David and I conjured up fantastic adventures wherever we went. Building

enchanted hideouts or mystical sand sculptures, we embarked as pioneers to chart

new territory. Though blind since birth, I have not always traveled with a long

white cane; during the expeditions with my brother I squinted at the ground

in front of me and let him lead, even though he was younger. I anticipated our

adventures with enthusiastic curiosity, eager to unleash my imagination in each

magnificent place we discovered. But straining and squinting became tiresome,

and my incompetence at times created in me genuine apprehension to explore rocky

or unfamiliar terrain.

The

summer we camped at Devil's Lake in Baraboo, Wisconsin, I realized the magnitude

of my ineffective travel technique. Hiking along the bluffs, which rose nearly

500 feet, I clenched my father's hand. He tried his best to guide me along the

trails, but I clung to him, paralyzed with the fear of falling. I understood

that trusting my residual vision compromised my abilities, but I knew no alternative

techniques. As I gathered the courage to finish the hike, I promised myself

that someday I would not allow my blindness to thwart my ambitions.

Years

later I stood atop a different bluff, one that I had climbed while wearing sleep

shades as a student at Blindness: Learning in New Dimensions (BLIND), one of

our Federation training centers. Upon graduating from high school, I had won

a scholarship from the National Federation of the Blind, and part of the scholarship

included attending the national convention. At national conventions I observed

blind people traveling confidently with the long white cane. I realized that,

if I had learned Braille, I would not be holding large-print books close to

my face in an awkward attempt to read them.

Since

those childhood days of expeditions with my brother, I had aspired to be a teacher.

But questions always lurked beneath the surface of my dream: How would I read

the class attendance roll? How would I grade papers and complete lesson plans?

How would I approach the topic of blindness with my students? With the help

of the National Federation of the Blind, I observed that alternative techniques

existed, and I recognized that, before I could become a successful teacher,

I must first acquire the skills to become a successful blind person.

I

developed these skills at BLIND. Daily lessons in travel, Braille, and computers

built my competence, but one activity more than any other launched my confidence.

My initial reaction to rock climbing was one of anxiety and fear. I speculated

that falling would probably not be any less frightening if I were attached to

climbing gear. But as I listened to other blind people clamoring with excitement,

I became more eager to climb. When I touched the anchor at the top after my

first climb, I smiled with proud exhilaration, confidence rushing through my

veins.

On

the first day of school I challenged my ninth grade English students to stretch

their imaginations, to explore the possibilities of language and images in the

world around them, and to confront the fears that paralyze them. Showing students

the way, however, does a better job of inspiring than simply telling them. I

began my presentation this year with a video recorded two weeks prior to the

start of school; I had ridden the Skycoaster at the Minnesota State Fair. Tightly

secured in our harnesses, Jennifer Dunnam and I ascended a 150-foot tower. Upon

reaching our perch at the top, she pulled the cord, sending us plummeting towards

the ground. I screamed through the initial fall, but as we began to glide back

and forth, pendulum style, I marveled at the exhilaration of flying.

My students also marveled

at seeing their English teacher falling through the air and flying triumphantly.

They too began to understand how to stretch the possibilities of their imaginations

and dive into new experiences. I thrive on challenges and high expectations,

but without the influence of the National Federation of the Blind, I would never

have evolved beyond that fearful young girl clinging to others for guidance

and direction.

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