Whose Blindness Is It?

Whose Blindness Is It?

Future Reflections Fall 1987, Vol. 6 No. 3
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WHOSE BLINDNESS IS IT?
by Lauren L. Eckery
(This article was printed in the January 1987
issue of the Braille Monitor. Lauren and Jerry
Eckery were born blind and they are very active
in the leadership of the NFB of Nebraska. Jerry
is employed in a professional position with the
IRS and Lauren recently obtained her Master's
degree in Social Work. They have a lovely
daughter and own their own home. They are an
intellegent, well-educated, and competent
couple. All these facts reveal something about the progress the blind have made. Yet, the experiences
Lauren describes in this article
demonstrate all too well the problems that
remain for all blind people in this country,
regardless of their personal competency.)
In an article I wrote when my daughter Lynden
was two years old, I praised the child care setting
she was in. I praised its children for seeing blindness
more as we blind adults do. It was evident through their questions and their observations of
me as I spent weekly two-hour sessions at the
school, that these young children saw and
believed the reality of my blindness.
The director of the preschool, who had become
a good friend of mine, whose skill with children
was obvious, was pleased to have me at the preschool--not
just to sing with the children but also
to give them an education about blindness. I
trusted that Lynden was in good hands. I trusted
a friend who knew and understood about blind
ness,
from my example.
Was I naive? Did Lynden, her father, and I eventually
experience deprivation because of "our
limitations" or those of someone else? Let me relate
some examples of the "progress" of our
relationship.
When Lynden was two, I did not take her to preschool
on a regular basis. If she missed out on
some of the activities at school, it was purely due
to her sporadic attendance--or was it? She was
too young to know or care that the rest of the
children, on a certain day, were dressed in
western outfits or that the rest of the children had
brought paper valentines to pass out--everyone
but Lynden. I let it pass; she was too young. I
suspected a problem but didn't want to be
labeled a "paranoid," and I reasonably expected
that Lynden would eventually tell me about special
occasions coming up at school. No problem.
Last fall, when Lynden was four and a half and
"River City Roundup" was happening all around
Omaha, we bought her a western outfit that could
double as a Halloween costume. It was pretty
enough to be worn anytime. When I asked which
day the children would be dressing up for "River
City Roundup," the director informed me that
she hadn't decided--that she would let me know.
One day Lynden came home in tears. "Mommy,
the other kids weared western clothes, and you
didn't let me wear mine." I told her that no one
had informed me that this was the day for such
clothing to be worn. She was angry because she
was convinced that I "should have known." Could she trust me as much after that?
When Valentine's Day rolled around, once again
I asked to be informed as to when the children
would be exchanging cards. Lynden piped up,
"I'll tell you, Mommy." The director assured me
that she would tell me. I bought cards, typed them
up, and had them ready in early February. The
night before the day, Lynden announced that she
would be taking the cards tomorrow. Only because
I was beginning to understand that the preschool
director, my friend, "was a little scatterbrained"
was I able to stay on top of this situation.
Still, I was not particularly angry.
In March Lynden had a birthday--her fifth. She
wanted to have Amanda, her best friend--the
preschool director's soon-to-be adopted child--
over for the birthday celebration at Showbiz
Pizza Place. We invited her. Three days before
the party when we had not been given a definite
answer, I made one of the most frightening but
also one of the most real phone calls of my life.
The director's reason for not answering the ruquest
was that she didn't know if the girls would
behave in such a noisy place. She stated in no uncertain
terms that the only way that Amanda
could come was if they dropped her off at Showbiz
and one of them stayed.
Suddenly it was apparent to me that I was expected
to be as obedient and as much under her
control as the preschool children she supervised
each week. I was at a turning point at which I
could either choose to back off and say, "That
would be fine," or to do as I did.
I asked if they were worried about our blindness.
At first there was total denial. When it came
down to the details, though, she was afraid to
have us walk the children home for fear that
Amanda, who was not "trained to obey us like
Lynden is," would run off; that she might dart into
the street while we waited for the bus, and we
wouldn't see it happening; that we_might lose the
girls on the way from the bus to Showbiz and
"How could you keep track of them in that noisy
place?"
When I explained, she stated that I was being
defensive, not caring about the concerns of other
people and risking the children's safety just to
make a point. I said that I had a right to "defend"
our position, and that she could choose whether
that was really behaving defensively or not.
She said that she had no idea that I was so "angry
about being blind;" that she had been so proud of
me for the way "I handled it with the kids." She
eventually stated that she thought Jerry and I
should learn our limitations, just as everyone else
does, for Lynden's sake if not for our own; that
we were deluding ourselves if we thought we
could function as independently as sighted
people. And I was horrified to hear her say, "And
you know that Lynden is going to know the difference.
She's going to understand that she can't
have friends over without parental supervision
like other children do because of your limitations.
She won't be angry about it, because she
will understand."
I answered that Lynden would be puzzled and,
indeed, angry when other people (teachers, other
children's parents, etc.) decide for us that she
and/or her blind parents "have to do things differently,"
when she is going to know from living
with us daily for all the years of her childhood that
such limitations are unnecessary. She may even
begin to think that there is something wrong with her because she's being consistently left out of
normal activities.
At length I told her that I thought the whole situation
boiled down to a matter of trust, to which she
immediately replied, "Laurie, I trust you implicitly!"
She explained that she could tell when
children came from less than desirable parenting,
and that she would hold me up as an example of
one of the best parents in the neighborhood; that
she was proud of the way that Jerry and I were
carefully teaching Lynden, taking her places,
keeping her dressed neatly, and so forth, and she
knew that we loved her.
It was difficult for me to believe that I really could
not trust this "friend," and she could not believe
that I thought she did not trust me. I said, "When
someone says to me on the one hand that they
trust me implicitly but on the other hand will not
allow their child to be with us without sighted supervision,
something doesn't fit." My stomach
turned at the thought of how I, with my unusual
amount of assertiveness, had probably changed
the direction of our relationship forever. I would
probably lose a good friend; I had "caused" a
chasm between Lynden and her best friend. And
would I be forced to put Lynden in another preschool?
I realized quickly through my panic that
the problem wouldn't be solved in this way. It was
more likely that this same kind of situation would
occur again and again. I could not trust as implicitly
as I had trusted previously, but Lynden's
education at this preschool had, up to now, been
excellent.
But if the director couldn't see blindness for what
it really is any more clearly even after observing
it, what other "blind spots" might there be in
Lynden's education there? (I now know that they
also sex role stereotype children--"boys wear
doctors' hats; girls wear nurses' hats"--and I am
aware of other issues which are upsetting to me.)
However, much as I might have wished for it,
there is no such thing as "the perfect school setting"
for Lynden or for any other child. I knew,
therefore, that I had to negotiate.
Our compromise, after talking with other
Federationists (I thank God for other
Federationists), is that the next time Lynden is
asked to Amanda's, she will be allowed to go only
if one or both of us is along. Will the director and
her husband squirm? Will they be angry? Time
will tell.
We thought things had blown over by the time
Lynden enrolled in dance class with several other
children. However, on one occasion she was kept
from going to dance class because she had a rash.
Although we had paid for this class, we were not
consulted about this decision. Later Lynden did
not inform us of her recital. Neither did the preschool.
The
night before the recital, at 9:30 p.m, with no
chance for us to invite friends along, the director
called us, realizing that "we might not know about
it." The children were to have brought a letter
home from the dance class. We did not get
Lynden's letter. Thinking that Lynden had accidentally
forgotten it, I asked her about the letter.
I was informed that the letters had all been
taken away from them at preschool and given to
the parents later.
We attended the recital, knew very little about
Lynden's dancing, and I really began to wonder
if I was being deprived because of my blindness.
At home I cried about what I had missed.
The next day when I asked Lynden why she didn't
tell us more about her dancing, she said, "You
can't see." Suddenly I realized that lately she had
begun to play tricks on us and to get very angry. I
realized that she was angry about our blindness.
She was also feeling that we "missed out" on her
dance.
We learn from our mistakes. When I mentioned
this last situation to one of the most competent
Federationists I know, he cleared up my own
doubts about my blindness by asking, "Did you
have Lynden show you what she was learning?"
We had alluded to it, but we had not gotten down
on the floor to have her show us.
When I explained to Lynden that we missed out
on her dance not because we couldn't see but because
we had not asked her to show us what she
was doing, she was immediately relieved. She
gleefully showed us the entire dance routine,
taking on the role of the dance instructor. It was
hilarious, entertaining, and enlightening.
Suddenly it appeared that she understood
that we could be trusted, that we didn't
necessarily not know what was going on
just because we can't see. Her general behavior was back to normal.
Suddenly it appeared that she understood that we
could be trusted, that we didn't necessarily not
knowwhatwas going on just because we can't see.
Her general behavior was back to normal.
I know that we will have to deal with situations
similar to the ones I have described in this article.
I know that I must continue to improve on my
own assertiveness. I know that I must be wiser
than to trust even good friends when it comes to
dealing with issues of blindness, and I know that
I must trust my own knowledge and stand by it. I
know that Lynden will be confused for some
time, but I hope that someday she will read what
I have written and will be reminded of what she
said to me when she was not quite five years old:
"Mommy, I wish you could see."
Oh, dear, I thought. Not a pity party from my own
kid! "Lynden, what would be different if I could
see?" I inquired.
"'Cause then, Mommy, people wouldn't talk to
you like you were a kid."
Editor's Note: In an addendum to this article,
Laurie later wrote: It is one thing to be able to verbalize
our Federation philosophy well; it is sometimes
quite another thing to be able to live by it. In our childhood most of us were not properly
prepared to meet the blatant prejudices--not to
mention the subtle ones--faced by blind people in
our daily lives. Assertiveness skills and awareness
of discrimination come slowly to those of us who
have spent most of our lives influenced by nonFederationists.
The poignancy of this article will,
perhaps, be enhanced for you by the fact that my
sister, who is also blind, is (with the cooperation of
all the parents involved) very successfully supervising
several other children besides her own.
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