Pole

Pole

The Metal Pole

by Homer Page

From the Editor: The following story by Homer Page

first appeared in Beginnings and Blueprints, the latest in

our Kernel Book series. Here is the article, beginning with

Dr. Jernigan's introduction:

Homer Page is a leader in the National Federation of

the Blind of Colorado. When he was six years old, he learned

a lesson from a metal pole, and he remembers it well to this

day. Here is how he tells it:

I was born seven weeks before Pearl Harbor. As were so

many young men of his generation, my father was soon caught

up in the war. For a number of years during my early life he

was away from home in the army.

My younger brother and I lived with our mother and

grandmother on our family farm. My mother and grandmother

were blind, as was I. They ran the farm while we waited and

prayed for my father to come home. In time he did return

safely. But during this time we were rather isolated.

During these years I really didn't understand that I

was blind. I enjoyed enormously running in the open fields

that made up our farm. I fell off a table and broke my arm.

Another time I slipped in the water on the back porch, where

my mother was washing clothes. I fell out the back door and

broke my arm again. In each instance I hardly slowed down

while I wore a cast. Later, when I was nine, I broke my

collarbone playing tackle football at school, and still

later, when I was fifteen, I broke my arm again in a bicycle

accident.

Sometimes my cousin, who was a few years older, would

come to visit. He would tell me about going to school. It

sounded exciting. I could hardly wait until I was old enough

to catch the school bus and go to school. I spent many of my

days playing school and dreaming of reading books.

Finally the day came when I could start school. My

father was home by then. He and my mother took me to school.

No one mentioned that I was blind. When it was time to play

that first day, I joined the other children and went

outside.

Children who are six years old run. They run without

purpose. They run in packs for the simple joy of running.

The children began to run. I joined them, and I too began to

run.

My next memory from this day long ago is still vivid. I

ran into the metal pole that braced the playground slide. In

a split second I was flat on my back. My nose had squarely

struck the pole. I was in a great deal of pain, and the

other children were going on without me. In that moment I

realized that I was blind.

I knew that, if I lay there or if I cried, I could not

play with the other children. I got up to join my new

friends. They never commented, nor did I. I spent my

childhood and adolescence with many of those children. We

seldom talked about blindness. I just took part in whatever

activity presented itself.

No pity or sentimentality was shown to me. When teams

were chosen to play softball, I was chosen last. But when

teams were chosen for math or social studies competitions, I

was chosen first. Those selections were fair, and neither I

nor anyone else questioned them. It meant nothing to me to

be selected last. What was important was that I played, that

I played hard, and that I looked for ways to make a positive

contribution to my team.

In the decades since my encounter with the metal pole,

I have more than once found myself figuratively lying on the

ground. What I learned at six years of age, and have

relearned several times since, is that getting up is the

best option. The other option is to play it safe and not

really play.

In 1981 I was elected to the Boulder, Colorado, City

Council. In 1986 I was chosen to be Deputy Mayor of the

city. In 1988 I was elected to the Boulder County Board of

Commissioners. During all but one of my years as a county

commissioner I was either Chairman or Vice Chairman of the

Board. However, things were not always easy.

In 1980 I ran for the Colorado legislature. The race

was very close. Near the end of the campaign workers

representing my opponent began going door to door in the

district telling voters that, since I was blind, I could not

represent them, that I would only represent the interests of

the blind. I lost that election by 120 votes. That metal

pole had just blocked my path once more.

I got up and started to run again. I found that I had

won the respect of my community. A year later I was elected

to the Boulder City Council. Four years later I ran for re-

election. As top vote getter in the election, I was in line

to be mayor, but once again my blindness became an issue. I

was not selected to be mayor. I was, however, chosen to be

deputy mayor. Once again, that metal pole had gotten in the

way.

In 1988 I ran for the Board of County Commissioners. I

unseated a popular incumbent. In 1991 I was unopposed. My

blindness had simply ceased to be an issue that could help a

political opponent.

On September 1, 1995, I assumed the responsibility of

directing the National Federation of the Blind's training

center in Colorado. Students at the Colorado Center for the

Blind learn the alternative skills they need to live

independent and productive lives, and they learn the

attitudes that they need to accept and manage their

blindness.

As I work with Center students, there is a perspective

that I hope to be able to share with them. Perhaps I can

state it like this: In the lives of blind persons there are

occasional metal poles. Once it was believed that those

poles made life too dangerous or too difficult for us to be

able really to participate with sighted persons on terms of

equality, but now we know that this is simply not true.

However, we also know that, when those poles appear in

our paths and flatten us, we must get back up and continue

to run without bitterness or self-pity. We must also improve

our travel skills through life so that we can avoid as many

of those poles as possible. We must be tough enough to play

without sentimentality and smart enough to know that in this

way life will shower us with abundance.