by Lauren L. Eckery
In What Color is the Sun and The Freedom Bell, the first two Kernel Books, I introduced Laurie Eckery and her daughter Lynden. Laurie is blind and Lynden is sighted. Because of Laurie's moving articles, Lynden has become quite well known to the members of the National Federation of the Blind throughout the country. We have watched her and her mother face and deal with the problems that confront a blind mother as she struggles to keep her sighted child from absorbing the mistaken notions about blindness that abound in a well-meaning but uninformed society. Lynden is a well-adjusted, normal child with healthy attitudes but it has not been easy. Here is Laurie's account of some of what has happened.
It is said that babies know when they're hungry, that they know when they need to eat and what they should eat. I believe it is also true that babies know whom to trust and whom to respect. It also appears that they have, at a very early age, a very good grasp of common sense.
When I first entered Lynden into Blossom Time Child Care, I had questions in my mind: How are those kids going to see my blindness? What will be the effect on Lynden? Some child psychologists tell us that children start out quickly learning what's best for them and seeking it and then get confused when adults' values, standards, and attitudes are forced upon them.
Several weeks ago I had joined Lynden's group for lunch, as I always do after our music lesson. Most of the children had finished eating, but two girls in the opposite corner from me had the most interesting discussion:
Anne: "Her plate's almost empty, but how can she eat it?"
Beth: "Well, you saw, didn't you? She found it with her fork and ate it, so she can do it."
Anne: "I don't understand; like this morning Lynden didn't bring her in to eat. How did she get here?"
Beth: (with some disgust): "Well, Anne, you saw her walk in here. I saw you watching her. She hit the table with her cane, touched her chair, and sat down. So, she did it."
Anne: "But but how can she do it if she can't see? Oh, yeah, she did it, so she can do it!"
How often do adults see exactly what we do and hear exactly what we say and still not believe it? How flimsy is "seeing is -believing."
A few days ago I was in the hallway helping Lynden put on her coat. A mother and a small child were about to leave.
Mother (in hushed voice, of course): "No, let's wait. I want to see if she needs help."
Child: "Mom! Let's go! She doesn't need help."
Mother: "Okay, but I just want to make sure."
Child: "Mom, she does it all the time. She walks Lynden over here and home and helps her with her coat all the time."
I didn't say a word. With coat properly zipped, snapped, and hood tied, Lynden and I walked past them and left. I couldn't help but think about these children's instructive conversations when the other day Lynden and I were approaching a cab on our way to preschool. As the driver opened the door and Lynden climbed in in her usual energetic manner, the driver admonished: "Hold on little lady. Aren't you going to help your mommy into the cab first?"
Lynden, knowing how unnecessary that was, continued onto her side of the seat. I wondered how shocked the driver was as I stepped up rather than down into the cab, sat my bottom onto the seat rather than the floor of the cab, and even proceeded to shut the door rather than open it.
I had little time to wonder, for the driver's next question, before even inquiring about our destination, was (addressed to Lynden, of course): "I bet you take real good care of your mommy all of the time, don't you sweetie?" Though Lynden didn't comment, I'm sure she heard it.
Another time, when the weather was a little warmer, we were walking to preschool. We were standing at 50th and Chicago Streets in Omaha, where there is a school crossing light. As we approached, I noticed that there was a child patrol ready to punch the light. Several other children were hanging about, waiting for the light to change. Suddenly a mother of one of the children came up behind me and said to the children: "Don't worry, I'll take care of her." Knowing what she meant, I thought to myself, "Oh no you won't." As the light changed, I took a larger stride than usual, which caused Lynden to run, and we were off just in time to escape the mother's hand on the back of my coat. Again, Lynden did not respond, but I know she heard.
One of these days, she's going to respond, and I wonder what her response will be. Will she agree with the adults around us that we are incompetent, or will she see us as we are? I ask this not only of Lynden but of children of blind parents everywhere.