I wrote this quicly before I could forget so it may have typos and edit issues. I call it Hiding Places.
It was senior high school, and I hated school - not because of the academic requirements, but because of the isolation and humiliation I felt. It was clear I was not welcome by all in public school. The occasional push to the hall floor or the student who refused to drink out of a drinking fountain after me was my evidence. I am surprised I ever graduated.
In the 11th and 12th grades, I think I missed more days of school than I attended, but I had hiding places. During the lunch period, I would hide in the library to escape the embarrassment of eating alone or not finding an empty table. It was safe in the library. I think the librarian liked me and knew I sought refuge amongst the books and carols.
In a carol, I was surrounded. No one could see me, and I could hide from reality in a book. At the end of the lunch period, I would find my way back to my appropriate classroom. It’s funny how I still have dreams of running to the library for safety.
As time went on, I found new hiding places, but these were hiding places with no physical boundaries. I discovered that I could feel safe hiding within my own thoughts of hope. I recall in those last few months of high school writing the date on my papers. As I wrote 4/15/1982, it hit me; I found my hope. I realized that this time in my life was transient. I would soon be free from the shame and rejection of high school.
There was one class in particular where I found my inner hiding place. Because we were seniors in high school, the teacher allowed us to move about the room in the last few minutes of class. I chose to walk to the window and stare out into my future. I understood that the entrapment of the classroom walls were only illusory, and I would one day be free.
I had courage to finish my last high school year and graduated on June 9, 1982. I entered college immediately after.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Thom
I sure hope we're past the time when teachers thought/acted this way. I also hope that sharing these stories allows you to "put them to sleep" so to speak - at least in their ability to hurt you. You seem to understand that this is now and that was then. You have nothing to be ashamed of or apologetic for. Not then, certainly not today.
Keep them coming. I have put all of our email exchanges into a blog format. It's private, not indexed or google-able in anyway. Password protected too. If you ever want to see it just let me know. We're up to about 80 messages exchanged.
Keep them coming. I have put all of our email exchanges into a blog format. It's private, not indexed or google-able in anyway. Password protected too. If you ever want to see it just let me know. We're up to about 80 messages exchanged.
Amy
This is a story I have repeated over and over in my head. I have finally written down. Perhaps now I will stop rehearsing it and be free of it. Thanks. Amy
I sat in a row along with the other Kindergarten children. We faced a green felt board that was in front of the classroom. Each of us children took our turn to identify a red letter that the teacher stuck to the green board. It was my turn. I saw the green and red contrast; but I hesitated to answer.
Although I was only four-years old, I knew what the task was, if only I could see that darn letter. Perhaps it was a lack of confidence, was it an "M", should I have guessed? She (the teacher) was soon beside me. She pulled me up from the floor and shook me as she yelled “What is the letter? Say it.”
That was probably the first time I realized that my visual disability made others angry. I admit it, I started to cry. I was confused, hurt, and ashamed. That same day I went home and told my mother that “Mrs. Moore shook me for not telling her what the letter was.”
My mother immediately called her on the telephone. The woman did not deny what she had done. She proudly declared that she knew I could not see the letter on the board in front of the room. She explained to my mother that she shook me because she wanted to teach me to say “I can’t see it.”
Mrs. Moore is still alive and I have in recent years bumped into her at the market when I visit my parents in my hometown. My mother and I graciously greet her.
I sat in a row along with the other Kindergarten children. We faced a green felt board that was in front of the classroom. Each of us children took our turn to identify a red letter that the teacher stuck to the green board. It was my turn. I saw the green and red contrast; but I hesitated to answer.
Although I was only four-years old, I knew what the task was, if only I could see that darn letter. Perhaps it was a lack of confidence, was it an "M", should I have guessed? She (the teacher) was soon beside me. She pulled me up from the floor and shook me as she yelled “What is the letter? Say it.”
That was probably the first time I realized that my visual disability made others angry. I admit it, I started to cry. I was confused, hurt, and ashamed. That same day I went home and told my mother that “Mrs. Moore shook me for not telling her what the letter was.”
My mother immediately called her on the telephone. The woman did not deny what she had done. She proudly declared that she knew I could not see the letter on the board in front of the room. She explained to my mother that she shook me because she wanted to teach me to say “I can’t see it.”
Mrs. Moore is still alive and I have in recent years bumped into her at the market when I visit my parents in my hometown. My mother and I graciously greet her.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Amy
Thank you for the kind words. Believe me, I do not see myself as anyone special or strong. I think I am simply focused, perhaps to narrowly sometimes. I have many goals I wish to achieve, particularly guiding my children to their adult lives.
I haven't seen Linnea in some time. Thanks for the reminder.
I haven't seen Linnea in some time. Thanks for the reminder.
Thom
None of your colleagues will think any less of you for having surgery, and everyone appreciates that so many things we undergo have side effects. I have never felt anything but support and caring from my colleagues. Of course, I don’t know what they say or think when I’m not around, but it has always felt like they were sincere.
Eye of the beholder, I guess. I see your challenges as greater. How you have learned to succeed with your limited vision is remarkable. All I have done is survive, and my hurdles never were an obstacle to career success.
I had another interview with Linnea this afternoon - this one about my writing. Have you two arranged a second interview yet?
Eye of the beholder, I guess. I see your challenges as greater. How you have learned to succeed with your limited vision is remarkable. All I have done is survive, and my hurdles never were an obstacle to career success.
I had another interview with Linnea this afternoon - this one about my writing. Have you two arranged a second interview yet?
Amy
Oh my goodness. It seems overwhelming that you were given so many challenges in one lifetime.
My anxiety about my spinal decompression and fusion surgery is beginning to mount. My neck problems are chronic an I was able to manage the pain with exercise and NSAIDs. But chemotherapy played havoc on my bones, and now the problem has progressed. I keep telling myself this is only one more hurdle until I can get back to the way I was before.
My challenges are nothing as yours, but I am actually ashamed to tell my other colleagues about my surgery. I feel a stigma that I was somehow weak.
My anxiety about my spinal decompression and fusion surgery is beginning to mount. My neck problems are chronic an I was able to manage the pain with exercise and NSAIDs. But chemotherapy played havoc on my bones, and now the problem has progressed. I keep telling myself this is only one more hurdle until I can get back to the way I was before.
My challenges are nothing as yours, but I am actually ashamed to tell my other colleagues about my surgery. I feel a stigma that I was somehow weak.
Thom
Let me give you more detail about my health.
Hodgkin’s as a college senior (1970) with four recurrences over the next three years. Lots of radiation and several surgeries. Massive septicemia in 1990 - D.I.C. Miracle recovery. Emergency gall bladder removal in 1992. Major heart attack in 1992. Pneumonia in 1990, 2006, 2009. Septicemia in 2006 and 2009. Defibrillators implanted and removed in 2005/2006 and 2007/2009. Skin cancer (two kinds) in 2005 – surgeries to remove them and reconstruct left side of my nose.
Those are the larger events. It’s hardly worth mentioning the small stuff. So when I refer to increasing intensity of the lessons, you can see what I’m referring to. Of course, last year was by far the worst.
I’m glad you liked it.
Hodgkin’s as a college senior (1970) with four recurrences over the next three years. Lots of radiation and several surgeries. Massive septicemia in 1990 - D.I.C. Miracle recovery. Emergency gall bladder removal in 1992. Major heart attack in 1992. Pneumonia in 1990, 2006, 2009. Septicemia in 2006 and 2009. Defibrillators implanted and removed in 2005/2006 and 2007/2009. Skin cancer (two kinds) in 2005 – surgeries to remove them and reconstruct left side of my nose.
Those are the larger events. It’s hardly worth mentioning the small stuff. So when I refer to increasing intensity of the lessons, you can see what I’m referring to. Of course, last year was by far the worst.
I’m glad you liked it.
Amy
This was very beautiful. Thank you for sharing. At first you felt punished, then perhaps burdened, to finally looking at life's challenges as simply lessons. I think it is at this point of understanding we let go of anger and self blame. I love this "lesson" you have shared.
Thom
This is one of the earliest pieces I wrote, and I think you’ll see what I was struggling with at the time. There was originally a 3a and a 3b as I reevaluated what I was thinking, but they are combined here.
The “winter" I refer to was early 2009 when I almost died.
The “winter" I refer to was early 2009 when I almost died.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Thom
That’s part of the point – learning that we are whole because those who are near to us believe that we are and see us that way, and it doesn’t matter what others think. The challenge is to internalize what they believe so we believe it also.
Believe this – those who matter most in our lives see us as completely whole. Nothing else matters.
Believe this – those who matter most in our lives see us as completely whole. Nothing else matters.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Amy
Thanks for these posts. You are right, I am one of those who did not know you in the "beforetime." But my guess is we would have been friends and I would have trusted you then too.
I have never had a "beforetime" when it comes to disability. But do long for the body and soul I had before cancer. I wish I could go back and remember what it feels like to be whole. I am missing a part of me but don't know where to find it. Perhaps it is gone.
I have never had a "beforetime" when it comes to disability. But do long for the body and soul I had before cancer. I wish I could go back and remember what it feels like to be whole. I am missing a part of me but don't know where to find it. Perhaps it is gone.
Thom
I have forgotten which posts I have already sent you. I am including #11 and #12 – both relating to my hand/arm, although 11 may be referring to all of my various anomalies.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Thom
When I think about myself, I tend not to distinguish among them - they are all challenges. I may be a little different because my Hodgkin's, my massive infections, my scar tissue, my heart attack, my hemi-diaphragm, my brachial plexus nerve damage, etc are all inter-related and were from the beginning. So - I tend not to put them into boxes.
Your visual challenges and the scars (physical and psychological) left by your cancer and its treatment were not initially related. I see them as related now though because they are you. You cannot separate yourself from them. They both influence how you see yourself, but they represent challenges you have overcome. Yay, you. You are a survivor.
Your visual challenges and the scars (physical and psychological) left by your cancer and its treatment were not initially related. I see them as related now though because they are you. You cannot separate yourself from them. They both influence how you see yourself, but they represent challenges you have overcome. Yay, you. You are a survivor.
Amy
I know I talk with you about disability, but I have another aspect to my essence. I am also a breast cancer survivor.
This weekend I was at my folks’ house in Sheffield PA. They live on a road that was once the original Route 6. The new Route 6 is about two hundred yards from their backyard with the Hammer Mill railroad running between. While at my folks’ home this weekend, I pushed my littlest Evan on a big wheel toy as fast as I could, despite being bent over, up and down that old stretch of Route 6.
I ran across the old Four-Mile creek wooden bridge pushing him as fast as I could for his joy. During cancer treatment I kept focused on my children and playing with them again. I am still alive and cherish every minute with my children. My triceps our sore from pushing Evan on his big wheel. This is a pain I can endure.
This weekend I was at my folks’ house in Sheffield PA. They live on a road that was once the original Route 6. The new Route 6 is about two hundred yards from their backyard with the Hammer Mill railroad running between. While at my folks’ home this weekend, I pushed my littlest Evan on a big wheel toy as fast as I could, despite being bent over, up and down that old stretch of Route 6.
I ran across the old Four-Mile creek wooden bridge pushing him as fast as I could for his joy. During cancer treatment I kept focused on my children and playing with them again. I am still alive and cherish every minute with my children. My triceps our sore from pushing Evan on his big wheel. This is a pain I can endure.
Thom
Not alone at all - actually in the mainstream of those with disability and of those who work with those who are with disability.
Very cool.
Very cool.
Amy
Thanks for understanding Thom and knowing me the way I want to be known. This helps.
So I'm not alone in the way I think? Cool.
So I'm not alone in the way I think? Cool.
Thom
No - that is Seligman's term - after he did learned helplessness. It is what has grown into Positive Psychology.
Linnea is very much a person-first advocate. That's what it's called in Disability Studies - you are a person with whatever, not a whatever person. In your case, you are a person who happens to have low vision. There are many with disability who go the other way, however, because they feel that by owning the label they deny others a weapon against them - like gays calling themselves queers. It's sort of if I call myself that, it must not be a bad thing and, therefore, lessens the stigma.
All of your other questions - the what ifs - can't really be answered, can they? And does it matter anyway? They are about the past (which can't be changed) and we need to live in the present. Fun to think about maybe, but the goal is to be happy with who/where we are. Count the blessings we have, not the ones we didn't get.
You are a mom, a wife, a neuroscientist, a professor first.
Linnea is very much a person-first advocate. That's what it's called in Disability Studies - you are a person with whatever, not a whatever person. In your case, you are a person who happens to have low vision. There are many with disability who go the other way, however, because they feel that by owning the label they deny others a weapon against them - like gays calling themselves queers. It's sort of if I call myself that, it must not be a bad thing and, therefore, lessens the stigma.
All of your other questions - the what ifs - can't really be answered, can they? And does it matter anyway? They are about the past (which can't be changed) and we need to live in the present. Fun to think about maybe, but the goal is to be happy with who/where we are. Count the blessings we have, not the ones we didn't get.
You are a mom, a wife, a neuroscientist, a professor first.
Amy
I like the term learned optimism. Did you coin it?
What I wish to convey to Linnea is that I do not see myself as a blind mother, blind wife, blind teacher, blind sister, or as a blind daughter. Or am I all of these? I see myself as a person who happens to have low vision. Does low vision define who I am? I don’t know.
I wonder where I would be now if I wasn’t born with low vision. Would I have been popular in high school? Would I have had more friends? Would I be more successful, or less successful? Would I have learned to have a forgiving heart? Would I have had less heartache?
I just don’t know.
What I wish to convey to Linnea is that I do not see myself as a blind mother, blind wife, blind teacher, blind sister, or as a blind daughter. Or am I all of these? I see myself as a person who happens to have low vision. Does low vision define who I am? I don’t know.
I wonder where I would be now if I wasn’t born with low vision. Would I have been popular in high school? Would I have had more friends? Would I be more successful, or less successful? Would I have learned to have a forgiving heart? Would I have had less heartache?
I just don’t know.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Linnéa
Oh Amy-
I am so amazed and honored that you have even thought about my project beyond the time that we spent together in that interview that was really very helpful to me. You are right - I am feelilng somewhat "responsible" for any memories that our interview may have dredged up, uninvited. I am hoping that your thinking that has occurred since we met has just been clarifying and not disturbing to you. I so appreciate your honest recognition of what you say was "political but not explicit". I would LOVE to interview you again - not as a "more authentic" interview, but as a supplementary one. Let me know when it would be convenient to do that.
Thom is an incredible person and although I am amazed that you and he have been speaking about these issues beyond my cues, I am not surprised that your conversations with him have encouraged you to go beyond where you and I have gone before. He is like that.
So, it's your call. I look forward to our next interview and will appreciate anything else you share with me. Thank you so very much!!!
I am so amazed and honored that you have even thought about my project beyond the time that we spent together in that interview that was really very helpful to me. You are right - I am feelilng somewhat "responsible" for any memories that our interview may have dredged up, uninvited. I am hoping that your thinking that has occurred since we met has just been clarifying and not disturbing to you. I so appreciate your honest recognition of what you say was "political but not explicit". I would LOVE to interview you again - not as a "more authentic" interview, but as a supplementary one. Let me know when it would be convenient to do that.
Thom is an incredible person and although I am amazed that you and he have been speaking about these issues beyond my cues, I am not surprised that your conversations with him have encouraged you to go beyond where you and I have gone before. He is like that.
So, it's your call. I look forward to our next interview and will appreciate anything else you share with me. Thank you so very much!!!
Thom
You, my good lady friend, have just brought a tear to my eye.
Thank you for sharing this with me.
Thank you for sharing this with me.
Amy
FYI, Thom
Dear Linnea:
Since I met with you to discuss the topic of your dissertation, I must admit I was not forthright with you. As you asked your questions, I answered politically, but not necessarily explicitly. I held back because I did not want anyone to accuse me of thinking I was special, or was looking for sympathy. Since our interview, many memories have surfaced.
Please don’t apologize; I suspect that is your first reaction. I don’t know how it happened, but the door opened for me to share my experiences with Thom. Maybe it was because he shared his blogs with me or because I look to him as a role model. I am a product of Public Law 94-142. I’m not proud or ashamed of this, it is what it is.
I guess what I’m saying is: Do you want to try the interview again? Thom has listened to my stories and helped me not to be ashamed. I want to answer you sincerely.
Dear Linnea:
Since I met with you to discuss the topic of your dissertation, I must admit I was not forthright with you. As you asked your questions, I answered politically, but not necessarily explicitly. I held back because I did not want anyone to accuse me of thinking I was special, or was looking for sympathy. Since our interview, many memories have surfaced.
Please don’t apologize; I suspect that is your first reaction. I don’t know how it happened, but the door opened for me to share my experiences with Thom. Maybe it was because he shared his blogs with me or because I look to him as a role model. I am a product of Public Law 94-142. I’m not proud or ashamed of this, it is what it is.
I guess what I’m saying is: Do you want to try the interview again? Thom has listened to my stories and helped me not to be ashamed. I want to answer you sincerely.
Thom
Balance is good. I spent some time last spring explaining in depth learned helplessness and learned optimism to Linnea. We actually used her OT lab with the smart projector. I had identified a number of events in my life that might have led to helplessness - it was a bit of a list. She then asked me if I had ever made a list of the positive events that led to my optimism. I hadn't but have started thinking it through.
I can't speak to what she asked you (since I don't know), but she likes to know everything - not wanting me to censor myself or try to figure out what might be useful to her. So ... I tell her everything and let her decide what's important.
I love what your sharing with me and that you are, in fact, sharing with me. I feel very privileged, and the only labels I would ever want to assign to you are healthy and whole.
As I told you, I have saved your stories. Unless you object, I think I am going to put them into a private blog that only I can access. When it's done, I'll tell you and if you want to see it or own it, it's yours, and I'll drop out. Your stories are too valuable to discard - although I understand why you might not want to re-experience them.
I have shared only that first story with Linnea. She's so busy right now with her graduate course, her job, her family, etc. that she has little time to reflect anyway. I suspect you know what it's like to be a mom and be pulled in too many directions.
I can't speak to what she asked you (since I don't know), but she likes to know everything - not wanting me to censor myself or try to figure out what might be useful to her. So ... I tell her everything and let her decide what's important.
I love what your sharing with me and that you are, in fact, sharing with me. I feel very privileged, and the only labels I would ever want to assign to you are healthy and whole.
As I told you, I have saved your stories. Unless you object, I think I am going to put them into a private blog that only I can access. When it's done, I'll tell you and if you want to see it or own it, it's yours, and I'll drop out. Your stories are too valuable to discard - although I understand why you might not want to re-experience them.
I have shared only that first story with Linnea. She's so busy right now with her graduate course, her job, her family, etc. that she has little time to reflect anyway. I suspect you know what it's like to be a mom and be pulled in too many directions.
Amy
I don’t think I have yet fully addressed Linnea’s questions. I also can’t believe I have shared my deepest feelings and memories with someone as I have with you.
So far I have portrayed a poor little abused blind girl. But there are those experiences in my life that balance out the negatives. I think that may be what Linnea is seeking. I have good stories too. I’ll tell you soon.
I am amazed how better I feel after pouring out my stories to you; albeit, I delete them immediately. About the Kindergarten teacher, today I have a grin on my face when I think about her.
Oh, I have so much more to tell about that time in my life. Poor woman is still alive. Guess what? I have nothing but compassion for her. I’ll explain when the emotions surface again. Thanks for not assigning a label to my thoughts.
So far I have portrayed a poor little abused blind girl. But there are those experiences in my life that balance out the negatives. I think that may be what Linnea is seeking. I have good stories too. I’ll tell you soon.
I am amazed how better I feel after pouring out my stories to you; albeit, I delete them immediately. About the Kindergarten teacher, today I have a grin on my face when I think about her.
Oh, I have so much more to tell about that time in my life. Poor woman is still alive. Guess what? I have nothing but compassion for her. I’ll explain when the emotions surface again. Thanks for not assigning a label to my thoughts.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Amy
This is a quick answer to your question about how and why I respond to my experiences such as nasty teachers.
I believe we have control over our anger and hurt. We can be resentful and vengeful, or turn our hurt into passion and understanding for others. I chose the latter. I think you did too. That is why I look to you as a role model.
I believe we have control over our anger and hurt. We can be resentful and vengeful, or turn our hurt into passion and understanding for others. I chose the latter. I think you did too. That is why I look to you as a role model.
Amy
I will answer your question about mean teachers soon, but I wanted to throw out the below before I forget. It is about the love of family. Perhaps that is the answer. Rambling thoughts below:
I spent a wonderful weekend in PA with my family. What you do not know about me is that I have a sister who is seven-years older than I and has brown hair and normal pigmentation. I also have a younger brother who was born with low vision and albinism as I. My mother has talked openly about her decision to not have more children after my brother and I were born. She did not want more children who were genetically handicapped.
We love our big sister. She was born in 1958. I was born in 1964 and my brother in 1967. Our big sister took care of us. Time passed and she married and had four children. These were the only grandchildren my parents thought they would have. My sister’s children are now in their 30s with children of their own.
My parents never dreamed that their other two children with disabilities would ever marry. But that was not to be the case. After marrying Raymond and numerous genetic counseling sessions, Raymond and I were blessed with two browned-eyed boys. My brother on the other hand, did not want to even take a chance that his children would be born with albinism and low vision. Further, his wife was unlikely to conceive. So he and his wife mutually agreed that adoption was the best option. In May 2004, they adopted my two nephews whom I love dearly. They brought them home when they were only 1-week old.
But I guess God had a surprise. My sister-in-law, who was told she could not conceive, gave birth to Zeke in January 2008. He has the blondest hair, bluest eyes, and lightest skin. Who cares? He is loved and a very bright little boy. I am telling you this because I want other to know that difference is part of my family. We love and laugh the same as everyone, probably more. I wish people understood this.
My mother and father were unprepared for raising two children in the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s that were born handicapped. This past Halloween weekend, all of the children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren were at my parents home for Halloween. My parents are in their seventies, but I have no doubt that they have joy in knowing that all their children have families and children of their own. Who cares about disability when it comes to family?
I spent a wonderful weekend in PA with my family. What you do not know about me is that I have a sister who is seven-years older than I and has brown hair and normal pigmentation. I also have a younger brother who was born with low vision and albinism as I. My mother has talked openly about her decision to not have more children after my brother and I were born. She did not want more children who were genetically handicapped.
We love our big sister. She was born in 1958. I was born in 1964 and my brother in 1967. Our big sister took care of us. Time passed and she married and had four children. These were the only grandchildren my parents thought they would have. My sister’s children are now in their 30s with children of their own.
My parents never dreamed that their other two children with disabilities would ever marry. But that was not to be the case. After marrying Raymond and numerous genetic counseling sessions, Raymond and I were blessed with two browned-eyed boys. My brother on the other hand, did not want to even take a chance that his children would be born with albinism and low vision. Further, his wife was unlikely to conceive. So he and his wife mutually agreed that adoption was the best option. In May 2004, they adopted my two nephews whom I love dearly. They brought them home when they were only 1-week old.
But I guess God had a surprise. My sister-in-law, who was told she could not conceive, gave birth to Zeke in January 2008. He has the blondest hair, bluest eyes, and lightest skin. Who cares? He is loved and a very bright little boy. I am telling you this because I want other to know that difference is part of my family. We love and laugh the same as everyone, probably more. I wish people understood this.
My mother and father were unprepared for raising two children in the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s that were born handicapped. This past Halloween weekend, all of the children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren were at my parents home for Halloween. My parents are in their seventies, but I have no doubt that they have joy in knowing that all their children have families and children of their own. Who cares about disability when it comes to family?
Monday, November 1, 2010
Thom
Where did you find these mean teachers? My goodness. It's a wonder you turned out so well.
How does it feel to write these down and share them? Does it empower you at all to realize how much you endured, how much you conquered? You should feel proud that you turned out to be a remarkable woman in spite of these experiences.
How does it feel to write these down and share them? Does it empower you at all to realize how much you endured, how much you conquered? You should feel proud that you turned out to be a remarkable woman in spite of these experiences.
Amy
Thanks for asking about the first grade. I do have more memories from Kindergarten in public school. Please humor me. Whatever feedback you give on the below is fine with me.
On those wintry school days in December, my Mom dressed me in the warmest clothes as she sent me off to Kindergarten. Because I had a sister who was seven years older, and who did not have a visual disability, I guess my Mom felt security knowing her older daughter was taking care of her youngest daughter, the daughter with the visual handicap. I remember back in the late sixties how my big sister would walk me to the Kindergarten door. She would then set me on the bench inside the door and unbuckle my galoshes for me. It all seemed so normal for a loving big sister to help her little four-year old sister, who could not see very well, to take off her galoshes and coat.
One day in that wintry December, my sister dropped me off at Kindergarten and set me on that same old bench. She bent over to help me take off my boots. But on this particular day the Kindergarten teacher quickly intervened and harshly scolded my sister for taking care of me. She sent my sister away as she explained that I needed to learn to take off my own boots. After all, I was four-years old and should be able to unbuckle and take off my own galoshes. My punishment was to sit on the bench until I could take off my own boots; only then could I join the other students in class.
My sister was long gone. I was all alone on that bench. It seemed time was forever. I tried, and tried to unbuckle my galoshes. The tears were welding in my eyes, I was ashamed. Time seemed an eternity. I pulled so hard on my boots until they came off despite the buckles.
The teacher eventually returned to escort me to class. The humiliation of the day when I was isolated from the other students until I unbuckled my galoshes has never left me.
On those wintry school days in December, my Mom dressed me in the warmest clothes as she sent me off to Kindergarten. Because I had a sister who was seven years older, and who did not have a visual disability, I guess my Mom felt security knowing her older daughter was taking care of her youngest daughter, the daughter with the visual handicap. I remember back in the late sixties how my big sister would walk me to the Kindergarten door. She would then set me on the bench inside the door and unbuckle my galoshes for me. It all seemed so normal for a loving big sister to help her little four-year old sister, who could not see very well, to take off her galoshes and coat.
One day in that wintry December, my sister dropped me off at Kindergarten and set me on that same old bench. She bent over to help me take off my boots. But on this particular day the Kindergarten teacher quickly intervened and harshly scolded my sister for taking care of me. She sent my sister away as she explained that I needed to learn to take off my own boots. After all, I was four-years old and should be able to unbuckle and take off my own galoshes. My punishment was to sit on the bench until I could take off my own boots; only then could I join the other students in class.
My sister was long gone. I was all alone on that bench. It seemed time was forever. I tried, and tried to unbuckle my galoshes. The tears were welding in my eyes, I was ashamed. Time seemed an eternity. I pulled so hard on my boots until they came off despite the buckles.
The teacher eventually returned to escort me to class. The humiliation of the day when I was isolated from the other students until I unbuckled my galoshes has never left me.
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