As we grow from our infancy each of us begins to form an identity that makes each of us original. By the time we reach adulthood (perhaps by the age of thirty), life experiences, personality, education, relationships and many other factors combine to form who each of us becomes.
I am no different. I went through my own set of factors that helped shape who I am today, including my vision loss. I would say that by age thirty I knew who I was. I established my identity and was comfortable with who I was.
Then something happened to change all that. Late in 2013 I made a decision that would alter my identity and how people around me and society, in general, perceived me. I resigned to the fact that I needed assistance when I walked outside of my house, whether it be to the Herrick District Library or getting around my work environment at Grand Rapids Community College.
I got a cane for the visually impaired. I started using it in November 2013 when I received training from Amy Schreiner an orientation and mobility specialist from the Association for the Blind & Visually Impaired and Western Michigan University’s orientation and mobility program intern Sarah Rose. Little did I know how much the training and the cane itself would change my identity.
A little back story. Before the cane, who I now affectionately call Gypsy, I lived my life with a hidden disability. More than likely, if I met an individual and never told that person that I was legally blind, that person would go on his or her merry way and be none the wiser. To put it simply, I acted and looked like a sighted person. That came from years of surviving without a cane. I learned to adapt to surroundings and made do.
Occasionally, when I ran into a situation out of my control that required better vision, I succumbed to asking a person for assistance. At other times, I remained stubborn, even if I struggled (such as trying to find a specific pop drink at the local gas station), I wasted my time rather than ask for help.
It was as if I were ashamed of my disability. Or, that maybe I figured those people I asked for assistance would not believe me since I had no actual proof I was legally blind. So I spent my life living and struggling with a “non” disability.
But then I got the cane and I emerged from that shell I will call embarrassed insecurity about my disability. I had no choice. After all, I had a figurative big ol’ sign reading “LEGALLY BLIND GUY” in the form of a red and white cane. It led the way wherever I went. That cane, Gypsy, announced me as having a disability. And I was cool with it.
People started noticing and seeing me in a different light. Strangers at the library would say in an apologetic tone “Excuse me” if they got in my way. I never would have gotten that without my cane in hand. At grocery stores my cane gave me a voice. Now, when I enter the Shell gas station looking for something and If unable to find it, I ask the clerk. My cane gave me a voice.
Walking is a new adventure. People approaching me give a wide berth as they near me on the sidewalk. At street corners cars have actually backed up to let me pass. Again, it’s all Gypsy. Without her, I’d be just another sighted person to those folks in cars.
Even friends like Peg McNichol, who I’ve known for almost ten years only recently started seeing me as someone who has a vision disability. Peg is more aware of situations, barriers or obstacles whenever I’m with her. She is so attuned to my disability now. I feel like Peg has a “new” friend. Again, the cane changed my identity and I guess she does have a new friend.
This new identity extends into the classroom. This semester that just wrapped up, Winter 2014, was the first time I used my cane when introducing myself to students at the start of the term as a legally blind man. Students were conscientious of it and helpful when I dropped a pen on the floor or had issues with the computer. One of my students this semester, Bailey Kellicut, told me that she’d never guessed I had a vision problem. The cane gives it away. Another student, Jen Ramirez, I met a few years ago before I used a cane. I interviewed her and her sister at the Holland Museum. Fast forward to January 2014 and I’m in front of the class introducing myself. My cane is behind me. Her fiancé whispers to her, “I think the teacher’s blind,” motioning to my cane. She didn’t believe him. After all, she’d talked with me and I seemed like a sighted person. Then, I brought out the cane and it became a realization to her. The cane changed who I was in Jen’s eyes.
So I guess I’ve undergone an identity crisis in my early forties. I blame it all on Gypsy. My cane changed who I was, altering my identity forever. But it was a good thing. I accepted my disability and now alert others to it as well. Now, I let Gypsy lead the way on my journey through life.
- Roel -
Comments