She was eleven years old, she could not see at all at nights. She could not see her favorite Pogo show Thomas the tank engine, she was slowly going blind, and her retina was degenerating. She was the nerd of the class with thick spectacles, she wanted to read, and she wanted to be able to read even when she would be blind. She was blindfolded and taught to read in Braille, every day….I saw a dew drop on the daffodil petal, hated myself for seeing….did not want to touch anything at all…..


  1. I will tell you something; I am blind.

    You might say I’m a product of my parent’s optimism, or denial, that at this age I have absolutely no blind skills.

    I learned Grade 1 Braille in a week, but I never use it. In fact, I’ve forgotten most of it. And Grade Two Braille–there was no logic to it so I never even tried.

    But. I was the kid with the pop-bottle lens, I never really knew I was so ‘handicapped’ until I was a teenager.

    My world is a smear of watercolors and indistinguishable shapes. I have absolutely no acuity and I live in the half-light everyday, but look what I can do.

    I can do so much more than some people because my senses are uber-heightened, almost to the point of anxiety, but–I see, I hear, I feel things other people take for granted.

    And though it’s often like standing at the edge of an abyss with your eyes closed, that you don’t know whether to jump or fall–I see more with my heart than most peopl can see with their eyes.

    I had a friend on a poetry post once she said, “you’re not blind–you have vision.”

    And so it goes.


      1. Well, it’s why I don’t comment much. I’m a lousy commeter anyway. Online, on the computer, I make it look easy; an overachiever. Drove my professors nuts and yet they never really knew, or understood, how much work I had to put into my assignments simply to read them and carry the grade I did. Text readers just suck. I miss, more than anything, being able to read like a normal person.


        Liked by 1 person

  2. I think it takes a lot of strength to be able to voice your vulnerability.
    However small or big we all are often compensating creatively for an invisible loss.
    It would be a pleasurable torture to have you as a student 🙂
    Students especially intelligent ones , make us good teachers by constantly pushing us to stretch our limits. I am sure your professors loved you.
    I am touched by your post.
    Thank you once again…..for being here ….. making this special comment for me .


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