In the August 11, 1992, issue of Woman's Day, an article appeared which profiled the lives of several children with disabilities who have not let their problems stand in their way. Barbara Bartocci, the author of the article, contacted us to ask if we could suggest the name of a blind child for this profile. Without hesitation we suggested Lisamaria Martinez and her family. Lisamaria's mother is one of the leaders of the California Parents of Blind Children Division of the National Federation of the Blind. And NFB philosophy has been a part of the Martinez family's thoughts and actions for several years. The results are unmistakable. Now meet Lisamaria Martinez:
When Lisamaria Martinez was five, a strange rash, followed by blisters, erupted all over her body. Her temperature soared to 105 degrees, and her eyes swelled shut. "She could die," the doctor warned her terrified parents, as they rushed the pretty girl to the hospital.
In the next few weeks Lisamaria's blisters broke open, and her skin slithered off. Clumps of her waist-length hair fell out. She couldn't bear to open her eyes to light or air; it hurt too much. As Lisamaria's world grew dark, doctors diagnosed her mysterious ailment, a rare skin condition called Stevens-Johnson syndrome. Greg and Maria Martinez learned the worst: their daughter was permanently blind. Just twenty-eight and twenty-seven years old, the young couple lived in Oceanside, California, a continent away from their families in Puerto Rico. Lisamaria was the older of their two daughters. They were devastated.
Yet Maria Martinez also felt profound gratitude. She had told her husband, during the awful days when they feared Lisamaria might die, "God gave our daughter to us, and God can take her back; it's not for us to say." God had returned their daughter; surely they could deal with blindness.
Since her eyes no longer could tear, Lisamaria had to wear protective goggles day and night. "In first grade everyone stared at me," she relates matter-of-factly. "Sometimes they were meanțwe had crayon holders at our desks, and I couldn't tell which color was which, so I'd ask for help, and kids gave me the wrong color on purpose."
As Lisamaria learned to navigate with her cane, Greg encouraged her to go wherever she wanted to go. The Martinezes treated Lisamaria as normally as they did her younger sister. In second grade Lisamaria entered the annual National Federation of the Blind's "Braille Readers Are Leaders" contest. "I'm going to win!" she boasted to her parents, and they encouraged her determination. In three months, she read sixty-two books, winning her division.
By third grade Lisamaria joined Brownies and, pushing her cane ahead of her, hiked up trails with her friends. She also found an outlet for what her father calls a "natural desire to help people." In Brownies she collected canned goods for homeless shelters and visited the elderly in hospitals. At school she volunteered to pick up trash. "I got my friends to help," she admits.
The efforts of a nine-year-old blind girl to help the elderly caught public attention. In 1990 Lisamaria was nominated for the national Kiwanis Hope of America Award and, later that year, was named California's recipient of the coveted Jefferson Awards for Students for her community service. Lisamaria and her mother flew to Washington, D.C., for the presentation, and there, says Lisamaria proudly, "I got my picture taken with Mrs. Bush." It doesn't bother her that she can't see the photo.
Lisamaria still has trying timesțin physical education, for instance. "It's hard to bat and run bases when you're blind, but my teacher says she'll blindfold everyone in my class someday so they'll understand what it's like."
Most important: Lisamaria doesn't feel sorry for herself. "Nothing holds her back" says her mother. "When I see her running on the playground, she is just like a normal child. Her attitude is: `It might take me longer, but I can do whatever I want to do.'"