My life Part V: A journey begun

My life had suddenly taken on a direction. I knew what I was going to be doing for at least the next four years.

Because I entered school at the last minute, I was placed as the third person in a two-person dorm room. It was a bit crowded, but within a few weeks, someone dropped out of school and I moved into the spot he left.

I settled in fine. I could walk everywhere I needed to go. My roommate had a car so I could hitch a ride with him if need be. In those days, there were plenty of people without cars so I was not an odd ball - at least where having a car was concerned.

It was no problem getting around. I could usually ride along with someone going where I wanted to go without asking them to make a special trip. I would kick in some gas money or buy them a meal and everyone was happy.

Southwest Baptist College was a liberal arts college, now it is a university and much bigger than when I was a student. I found the professors personable and helpful.

Often, they would approach me to see if there was some way they could help. I sat in the front of the class and sometimes I could read the board, but not usually. I did better writing fast and listening. If I missed notes, I just got them from someone in the class later. That was always a good excuse to call up a girl.

My first semester or two, I had to bone up on the fundamentals. I remember in my first semester, I took a class that required five, five-page term papers. When I got the first one back, it looked like it had been painted red. The professor began marking mistakes, but gave up about half way through and simply wrote on the paper, "Please see me." I was mercifully given a C-.

I did go to see Dr. Hunt and he told me that my grammar was very bad. I told him how I had gotten into school at the last minute and had not exactly planned on going to college, but I was going to work hard.

As a matter of fact, I never took the ACT. They waived that requirement since it was so near the beginning of school. I signed up for the entry level English and math. English 103 focused on grammar and I soaked it up like a sponge.

My papers improved in Dr. Hunt's class. I didn't make the same mistakes twice and my grades slowly climbed reflecting my progress.

As far as my vision is concerned, my greatest disadvantage is when something is new. If I am in a new area or doing something different, my eyesight slows me down. If I am given a chance to settle in though, I can figure out what I need to do to overcome whatever obstacles I have to address.

So my first few days of being at college in Bolivar were difficult, scary, and stressful, but that soon gave way to familiarity and routine. I learned that if I can weather the initial storm, the rest is as easy as playing out the string.

A job is the same way. I may be a slow starter, but I am learning what needs to be done and how I can do it more efficiently. In a short time, I am able to do the job as expected.

I have had to struggle more with what others think about me than what I really can do. Some folks would not even give me a chance, ruling me out because of what they thought my being legally blind meant. It is a struggle I always have when going for a job. How do I express to them that I have a visual problem and still get the job? How do I communicate to them I am not a liability? How do I tell them there is a problem, but it isn't really a problem? I have experienced prejudice and I don't like it one bit.

The thing that hurts me the most is when I do not get the chance to take my turn at bat based on what someone thinks I can or cannot do. It is one thing to strike out but much worse not to get the opportunity to swing the bat.

I do not expect employers to make performance exceptions for me. If you think about it though, at any office or job site accommodations are made for almost everyone. Employees are people and the job flexes a bit for the person. Employers are usually flexible about someone's hours to allow them to pick up their children from school. It all works out.

I don't expect my employer to buy me any special equipment or make any special allowances for me because I am legally blind. I only want what is coming to a normal employee and I expect to deliver at the very least what a normal employee would produce. In truth, I want to do better. I don't want to be an average employee, I want to be one of the best, most versatile and knowledgeable.

College teaches you a lot out of the classroom. My four years at Southwest Baptist College were good years of growth for me. It opened my mind and served as a bridge between childhood and adulthood.

Because of my grandfather's influence and my friend Bob, I was almost paranoid about becoming a pansy preacher. You know the type, they are so heavenly minded that they are no earthly good. I wanted to be a man, be cool, but also be a good example spiritually. I was struggling more with society's idea of what a preacher was than the reality of it.

John the Baptist and Jesus were no wimps. They were bold and controversial. Society on the other hand treated preachers like young children. The barber wouldn't tell any dirty jokes when I was in the shop and if anyone ever cursed or said something off color they would apologize to me. I hated that.

So to keep my feet on the ground and to make money, I worked in the summers with Gene who was a brick and block mason. The Missouri summers were brutal, but I liked working out in the sun. It was good exercise and I got a tan. The only problem was the tan was from the waste up.

I learned to mix masonry, supply it to Jean two scaffolds high with a shovel, carry bricks and blocks to keep him supplied, roll a wheelbarrow full of mud over a ditch on a 2 x 12 without dumping it, and to clean the mud joints. It was good hard work and I enjoyed it.

In the evenings I often rode in the patrol car with Bob. It was a real education too. I saw bad accidents, speeders ticketed, and drunk drivers arrested. I drank a lot of coffee at diners, police stations, and the weight scales. Bob and I had lots of discussions about religion and life and he was a good person for that.

I hung out with Bob a lot. He was always involved in some project or another and I tagged along. We talked and laughed and worked. Anything from remodeling a storefront apartment to digging potatoes I did with him.

In the winter, I would help him cut firewood. We would take the pickup out in the woods, fell a few trees, cut and load them on the truck, then come home for a hot meal his wife Donna had prepared.

Whatever work they got out of me, they gave it back in the food I ate. I was their adopted son for those years.

When I went home to Willow Springs I had transportation. I had purchased a Honda XL 250 motorcycle. At first I just rode around on trails and back roads, but soon I ventured out into larger circles. I avoided traffic for the most part, but with my familiarity of the roads, my eyesight was adequate; or so I thought.

Here is what I am talking about. The road going into town is a two-lane highway. I know where the city limits began and where the speed limits changed. I know where the stop signs were so I did not have to rely on seeing them first.

That just left me to see the oncoming traffic or people pulling out of driveways. So I got along fine and I had a measure of independence with the motorcycle. I had about two close calls where I came up behind someone who was stopped in the road. Before I realized they were stopped I was on them, but in both instances, slamming on the breaks and a little luck I avoided disaster. My mom had gray hairs over the motorcycle and my guardian angel had to work overtime.

Looking back on those days, I still don't think I was taking major risks, with the exception of driving without a license. I could see where I was going. I only drove when conditions were right. There were ways I could avoid traffic or other conditions that put me at a greater disadvantage. I was careful. I would never have a motorcycle where I live now the traffic is too heavy.

Another thing I did during college was to play the drums with a gospel quartet. Bob was the bass singer. The other members of the group were members of our church.

I showed up with my drums at one practice and they included me in the group. We had a piano player, bass player, and me on drums. Playing in the quartet was another vital part of my education because I got to visit so many different churches and meet a lot of people.

Some of the churches we played at were as small as someone's living room. They would be so far out in the country that sunshine had to be piped in. Then other churches were large and formal. We played in town on the 4th of July, we played at all day singing and dinner on the grounds events, and we played at gospel singings with many other groups.

It eventually came time for me to preach my first sermon. I think it was January of 1976. I was going to preach the Sunday night sermon at our church. I was scared to death. How could I talk for 30 minutes or so? How do you do that? Then I had to read scripture in front of everyone, which meant I would have to hold the Bible in one hand, my magnifying glass in the other hand and plant my face in the book. One thing I have had to do because of my eyesight is to get over being self-consciousness or to not do it.

Damage to my pride is one of the worst things poor vision has done to me, but the result isn't so bad - it is humility. I have to humble myself, to not look cool many times. It still embarrasses me to have to pull a magnifying glass out at a restaurant to read the menu. If I have to use my debit card at a store, I have to bend close to the little monitor with my magnifying glass and work the keys. I feel the people staring at me in line along with the cashier. It is all in my head, because they could probably care less, but those are my feelings.

I would rather not have to do things that make me stand out, but the alternative is not to do them, so I swallow my pride and do it.

It is funny how when I was a kid, everyone could see I was different because of the thick glasses. As an adult, people are usually surprised when they are told I am legally blind. That has its drawbacks too.

If I make an "eyesight related" mistake, it may appear to folks that I am just stupid or strange. I am often branded as a snob or stuck up, because I do not return waves or non-verbal attempts at communication. If I am at a counter with a crowd of people, I often miss my chance to get waited on because I do not speak when I am acknowledged. The sales person interprets my lack of response as a cue to go onto the next person. To avoid such embarrassments, I rely a lot on the people I am with to run interference for me.

I can get separated from the group easily too. In a crowd of people, it is difficult for me to maintain visual contact. At an airport or sporting event where lots of people are around I am at the mercy of who I am with. They have to find me if we get separated.

Once I got separated from my friends at a Saints game. I backtracked to the big clock in front of the Superdome and waited. Eventually, they realized I was lost and came looking for me. It is those moments I get close to whining about my poor eyesight.

Back to the first sermon, I prepared like a fiend and I wrote a narrative of 20 pages or so. I read over that text a million times and memorized it. My sister wrote out the text in magic marker for me so I could "cheat" if I had to.

Like everything usually does, it all went fine. I delivered the sermon and didn't even use the cheat sheet. I was nervous and I am sure the delivery was barely tolerable, but everyone shook my hand and told me how much they enjoyed it.

At some point, I hope I realized that preaching the sermon was not about me, but supposed to be about God.

I had a lot of firsts in those college years. In January of 1979 I took out a student loan and traveled to the Holy Land and got college credit for my trouble. That was an amazing 3-week trip to Israel, Turkey, and Italy.

I had started keeping a journal my senior year of college and kept it up for about 5 years.

The traditional training for a pastor includes college and seminary. Seminary is to the preacher what medical school is to the doctor. My last year of college was spent thinking about and exploring my options.

There were 6 Southern Baptist seminaries at the time. Golden Gate, New Orleans, North Carolina, Kansas City, Fort Worth, and Louisville.

I was leaning toward New Orleans, because one of the professors I admired in college had attended there. New Orleans had a romantic charm and a sense of adventure. After my New Orleans visit, the decision was not difficult to make; I was going to New Orleans.

New Orleans would be a new chapter in my life and I will talk about it the next time.

Until the next time
John Strain

My life Part IV: Pivotal events and choices

This has turned out to be a Reader's Digest version of my life. I started out to describe how being legally blind affected me and how I dealt with it.

I am learning as I try to write about it that my vision is not a thing I can describe separate from everything else. It is like one of those brain tumors that weave throughout the gray matter and cannot be removed. Likewise, my vision or lack of it affects all of me.

It is an interesting exercise to summarize your life. A lot happens and it cannot all be described in detail in a few blog posts. In writing about these things, memories have been stirred and I feel the need to go back and write about them in more detail.

For now, I will complete the overview and later on go into more depth.

Now back to the story.

---

In 1970 my parents divorced. No one was more shocked than me. There was no fighting or any of the usual tip offs. I was 13, it was April, and it snowed the next day.

After I had gotten the news, I spent a sleepless night feeling what you feel when your life has suddenly changed for the worst. I had all kinds of thoughts running through my head. One of the thoughts was, "Now I am going to turn into a juvenile delinquent." But almost immediately I had another thought, "Why would I?"

I was finishing up my first year of junior high school. I didn't know anyone else whose parents were divorced. I was dealing with a lot of shock and embarrassment.

Time does not heal, but it takes time to heal. The right things have to be done. My parents made sure I knew the divorce was about them and not about us kids.

I realized they were still around and I still had a relationship with them. That year both of them remarried. My mother moved out and I stayed in the house with my dad. My life was not disrupted. I attended the same school and stayed in the same neighborhood.

Things were just different. Now I was the kid who couldn't see, who wore thick glasses, and whose parents are divorced.

It worked out. It wasn't long before I had lots of company. Today my son is in the minority because his parents are still together - go figure.

My junior high and high school years found me in the house alone. My brother had joined the Navy and my sister had friends, a job, and eventually married.

I was not pressured to succeed and excel academically and I lived up to the low expectations. As I said, I was an average student. The educational philosophy in the early 70's was to give the kids a lot of freedom and to let them choose their own educational path. I chose the easy way. I shunned English, math, and science. Instead, I took auto mechanics almost the entire last two years of high school.

My grandfather was a mechanic and I spent several summers in Missouri where his influence had quite an impact on me. I admired the fact that he could fix almost anything. He always knew the answer, he was a good storyteller, and he had a sense of humor.

He gave me my first drink of whiskey and told me not to tell my grandmother. He told me dirty jokes and shared stories about growing up on a Nebraska farm. He was one of a kind and his wisdom and mischief are still alive in my mind and in my own occasional acts of orneriness.

My eyesight was a problem in my attempts to be a mechanic. I could not see what I needed to. A lot of what I needed to see was at arm's length and surrounded by hot metal and tangles of wire.

It wasn't enough to know what was wrong and to understand what needed to be done if you couldn't get the wrench to the nut or see the timing marks on the flywheel. On some level, I knew I couldn't do it, but I forged ahead anyway.

I even printed up business cards that read:

John's Tune-Up Service
"The grease monkey who doesn't monkey around"

I got a few cars to tune up, but I usually needed someone to help me. I needed their eyes.

I liked mechanical things. I bought lawnmowers at garage sales and tried to fix them. I took things apart to see how they worked. I was into stereo and speakers. At one time I had about 10 speakers of different sizes positioned all over my room that I could play through one of my cassette recorders.

I was into recording music, reel to reel, cassette, and 8-track. I was the guy who bought the 8-track recorder. Not too many people can say that.

As it turned out, I had enough credits to graduate early, so I did. I was out in March. It hadn't occurred to me to take extra classes and learn something.

I wanted a better job so I could move out of the house and rent an apartment. Reality soon set in that a high school diploma didn't exactly max out a resume.

I was nearing a crossroad. I was 18 and had no real direction. As it turned out, I did have direction, I just didn't know it yet.

Since age 16 or so I began wondering about God. I had gone to church as a child and learned what they teach in Sunday School, but as I got older and eventually after my parents divorced, I stopped attending church.

I remember lying in bed one night thinking, "If God is real, it would be wise to find out what He wants from me – and to do it." I began a search. I listened to preachers on TV, I read the Living Bible, and I started going to church.

I liked how it made me feel. Even though I was only 16 or so, I had been going out drinking after work at Red Lobster for a year or so. I didn't feel particular good about myself. I felt like a good person who was doing bad things.

I had had some disappointments. My parents divorced, my stepmother was a classic bad stepmother, my heart had been broken by Mary Ann, and I had no idea what I was going to do with my life.

I remember the eye surgery I had while in high school. When I got home from the hospital I received a letter from my mother. At the time, she was living in southern Missouri. My grandfather had prostate cancer and she had moved to be with him during his last years.

The letter said that they brought my name up in church to pray for me, that the surgery would go well.

This really touched me. How could people who don't even know me care about me? I was looking for something and I was finding it. A lack of direction was turning into hope.

I don't remember exactly when it was, but I visited my mother and her husband Warren in Missouri. Their church was having a revival. A preacher and singer from Texas were there and their message was spreading like wildfire throughout the small town.

Every service was packed. The daily services were well attended too because some kids skipped school to come and some of the businesses closed their doors so that they could be present.

I was ripe for the picking and I hung on every word. There was no turning back for me. Life was starting to make more sense and I was beginning to find the direction I had been seeking.

It wasn't long until I decided to move to Willow Springs, Missouri and live with Mom and Warren. It was there I met Bob Ross and his family. Bob became one of my all time best friends.

Bob was a big man with a gentle voice. He worked as a highway patrolman and became my big brother. I learned a lot from him and he greatly influenced me. In the coming years, I rode a lot of miles with him in his patrol car through the Missouri nights.

He was a good reality check for me and I got to experience some of the "other side of life" from his patrol car. Bob believed it was his job to put some of my later theological teaching into perspective. He did that and it kept my feet on the ground.

To this day, I know that all I have to do is pick up the phone and Bob would do anything for me. It is a wonderful thing to have friends like that.

The summer of 1975 I worked at a little restaurant called Hillbilly Junction. I was actively involved in the little Baptist Church in town, but I wanted more. I couldn't see this as my life.

I decided to speak to the pastor about these feelings and he helped me to see that perhaps I should study to be a minister. I was flattered and frightened at the prospect, but the more I thought and prayed about it, the more it seemed like the thing to do.

I walked down the aisle one Sunday and dedicated my life to full time Christian Service. If you are a Baptist this makes perfect sense.

Brother Berryhill told me that I would need to attend college. Ulp, college? I hadn't exactly taken college prep classes in high school. He picked up the phone and called the registrar at Southwest Baptist College in Bolivar, Missouri.

The next thing I knew, we were all on campus taking a tour. I figured I would start in January, but the college representative said I could start in the fall - that was only two weeks away.

After a flurry of filling out grant forms, applications, and enough paperwork to gain the respect of a Washington bureaucrat, I was on my way to college.

I was nervous. College was for smart people and people who could see. The professors don't care if you can keep up or not. Could I make it? What would I do if I failed?

So in the fall of 1975 I began preparing to become a minister. I remember standing in back of Beasley Hall watching Mom and Warren drive away. I didn't know a soul there. I remember that first night staring up at the ceiling wondering what in the heck I was doing. Who was I trying to fool?

I'll stop here for now, but remember this, reach for that which exceeds your grasp. Stretch to reach it. This is how we grow. Great things are achieved because great things are attempted.

Until the next time
John Strain

My life Part III: All I want is to be a normal kid

The Kansas School for the Blind was good to me, but I was becoming more and more self-conscious about attending there. I was embarrassed when someone asked me where I went to school.

Them: Where do you go to school?
Me: The blind school.
Them: The blind school - are you blind?
Me: No, I just don't see very well.
Them: How many fingers am I holding up?
Me: Good grief.

I hated being different. I just wanted to be able to answer simple questions with simple answers. I wanted to blend in and be a normal kid.

My mother had begun a new job with the local school board. Her particular office employed some psychologists and other educators. I am not exactly sure how it came about, but my mother arranged an assessment of sorts. The psychologist would talk to me and make a recommendation concerning me attending public school.

Everyone was afraid I would not be able to keep up in a public school setting. I think they imagined all sorts of things, because you would have thought I was asking to juggle nitroglycerin in a room full of dignitaries. I was only eleven years old, surely we could take a risk, I would have the rest of my life to bounce back if need be.

I remember going to the meeting and my instructions from my parents were to be myself and just answer the questions honestly. I don't remember a lot about the meeting, but I remember the room it was held in. It was cluttered with boxes and stacks of papers and journals. The man who talked to me was nice and I felt at ease. I remember the last question he asked me. He said, "Why do you want to attend public school?" My response was quick, "I just want to be a normal kid."

It must have worked, because the next fall I was enrolled in our local elementary school for 6th grade. My teacher was the same teacher my sister had three years prior - Mr. Meyers.

School posed certain challenges for me. I could not read what the teacher wrote on the board, even when I sat on the front row. So I got what I wanted – to attend public school, and I got a few more things I hadn’t considered.

I managed to make the grade. I was an average student, but my lack of academic success was more a result of how little I worked at it than my poor vision.

I was lazy academically. I was more interested in sports and having fun with my friends. I made mostly C's with the occasional B or D. When I got to high school, I took a lot of auto mechanics and avoided English and math. I was an idiot.

It wasn't until college that I began to apply myself. I completed college with a 3.23 GPA or so and in graduate school, I earned mostly A's. It was a slow start, but a fast finish.

I did miss some of the benefits of the blind school, but I liked being where I was. Throughout school, teachers fell all over themselves to help me. Like a moron, I wouldn't let them help me. I declined many of their offers, because I didn't want to be a special case.

The pace was faster than I was used to. I did poorly on standardized tests in the beginning, because I read slowly. I read slowly, because the print was small, and I had not yet discovered magnifying glasses.

I was in a place for normal kids, but I was not normal. I was the kid with the thick glasses. What I really hated was when someone wanted to look through my glasses. Sometimes I would give them up reluctantly, the kid would put them on and exclaim, "Wow." Then he would try walking around bumping into things and making exaggerated movements. I am sure it was "a trip" to put them on, but I hated it. Usually, there was a crowd laughing and cheering the person on. Eventually, I would get them back and everyone went their separate ways.

In junior high school, it started all over again because I was around new kids. High school was the same way. I have no lasting scars though and looking back, I don't know if I would have changed a thing even if I could.

When I was in high school, a checkup with the ophthalmologist developed into an eye surgery a few weeks later. The doctor was surprised I still wore thick glasses. He recommended contact lenses. So I had the old traditional cataract surgery on my left eye and got fitted for contact lenses.

This was a major event in my life. When I got rid of the thick glasses, my confidence level skyrocketed. My eyes still wiggled, but I did not stand out like I did with the glasses. Girls were out of the question with the glasses, but without them, heh heh heh. Boy was I wrong.

I inherited a paper route from my friend Frank when I was 14. Later on I started working on the paper truck. When I was 15 I started working at Red Lobster as a bus boy.

Vision is a funny thing. I could ride a bike and get around to deliver the newspapers. It gave my mother gray hairs, but I survived. If I am familiar with an area, I get along very well, but put me in an unfamiliar area and the poor vision shows.

I could go on and on about this and I have covered a lot of ground. I may expand on some of the topics at a later date, but let me close with this story.

Age 16 was just another birthday. No driver's license for me. If I wanted to go on a date, I was going to have to ask a girl out who had a car. I was going to have to ask her out and ask her to drive.

In the early 70's, guys were supposed to drive, so I was going to have to do something different or not do anything at all.

One of the hostesses at Red Lobster caught my eye - her name was Mary Ann. She was nice to me and I enjoyed talking to her. I made her laugh and I began thinking about asking her out. She seemed within reach. Long story short, one of the waitresses asked Mary Ann if she would go out with me if I asked her. She said yes.

It was all set up, but I was still as nervous as long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I think I waited until the last minute. Mary Ann was about to leave, but I finally approached her and after some stumbled over words and phrases, I asked her out. She said yes and I felt like I owned the world. What a feeling, do you remember your first date?

In the next post, I will talk about life after high school and some more eye surgeries. I even had two motorcycles. More gray hair for my mother.

Until the next time
John Strain

My life Part II: How'd I get here?

Congenital cataracts. That's what got me. The speculation as to cause was that my mother had some sort of virus during the seventh month of pregnancy. The mother always gets the blame.

So I was born with cataracts in 1957. My mother knew something was wrong, but it took the doctors a while to agree with her. In those days, eye surgery wasn't what it is now. A "needeling" procedure was done which amounted to puncturing one of the cataracts thereby letting in some light. There were no more surgeries until I was in high school.

The brain needs information from the eyes to develop normal sight. In my case, the brain was deprived of that information. The result was two eyes not working together, poor vision, and nystagmus or dancing eyes.

I'm not sure when I was aware that other people could see better than me. My life has been "normal" in most ways. Where my eyes hindered me, I found another way or realized a limit.

What were the limits? Playing little league baseball. I loved baseball and not being able to play is probably the worst thing poor vision has done to me.

That is not intended to be funny. The reason I say baseball has more to do with my age at the time. Now, I know what I can and can't do. I know where the fence is so to speak. Growing up, I had to learn my limitations. I did not always accept them and I usually got a baseball in the face to remind me.

One of the best moments in my young life was when I was visiting my grandparents in Missouri. I had a friend there named Mike who played little league baseball. He had a game and a spare uniform from the year before.

I wore the spare uniform to his game and sat on the bench during the game. That day I was a baseball player. I don't know if I have ever felt more proud than I did on that day.

In retrospect, I see how every experience in life is a double-edged sword. We can learn as much from disappointments as we can from successes. Some children are indulged and never experience "not getting their way" until much later in life. There were things I wanted my parents could not give me and in many ways - that turned out to be a good thing.

So I grew up with wiggling eyes, wearing thick glasses, and being the kid who couldn't see. I suppose I could have become bitter, withdrawn, or learned to deal with it.

Much of my life was normal, but a lot of it was different. When it came time for school, I had to attend the Kansas School for the Blind. I was different and needed to be in a school for different kids.

These days, everyone goes to the same school. I think both settings have their advantages and disadvantages. In my case, I was a partially sighted student at a school for the blind. The man with one eye is king in the land of the blind. I was king.

There were sad cases there. Many of the blind children had other problems as well. I was only dealing with low vision; many of them had physical and mental problems to boot.

The result is I grew up feeling lucky at school, but humbled when I was home and playing in the neighborhood. My brother and sister took advantage of me when we played Monopoly. It was usually too late when I discovered they had landed on my property to collect the rent. I learned that whining loudly or crying brought my mother in to hammer out justice.

That last bit was intended to be funny. My family was great. They made sure I was included. They all became adept at play by play, because they were always called upon to describe to me what I could not see – and that was quite a bit.

They became good with directions. Let's say I was looking for a checker that rolled off of a table. It was like a game of "hot and cold" to get me to it. They would say, over there . . . no the other way. . .no back. . .right there. . .to your left. . .NO TO YOUR LEFT!. . .finally.

I adapted as a person, my family adapted with me, my friends adapted to me. and it all worked out to what I think was a regular upbringing in a typical Midwestern family and town. We are all different in many ways; one of the ways I was different was my eyesight.

I attended the Kansas School for the Blind from K-5th grade.

My friends walked to school.
I was picked up by one of the teachers and commuted 30 minutes each way.

My friends went to school with kids like them.
I went to school with kids having all kinds of handicaps and varied backgrounds. My Kindergarten teacher was blind. Some kids were in wheelchairs. Some kids were black. Some kids lived at the school and only saw their parents on holidays.

Again in retrospect, I think my early education at KSB was a good thing. I was exposed to diversity, I was one of the fortunate ones with partial sight as they called it, and I got closer attention from the teachers there than if I had been at a public school of that day. I learned to read, rite, and do rithmatic.

They tried to teach me Braille, but I kept picking the paper up to read instead of using my fingers. Eventually, they gave up and stuck with the large print textbooks.

I was the recipient of some nice things by attending the Blind School. Every year, the Shriners took us to the circus. Not only did we attend the circus, but they bought the cotton candy, popcorn, and cokes to go with it. It was an annual treat to which I always looked forward.

To keep my foot in the other world, my folks got me involved in scouts. Our whole family was involved. My mom was a den mother for my brother when he was a Cub Scout and she was a Blue Bird and Campfire leader for my sister. My dad was a scoutmaster when my brother was a scout and he pulled another tour when I reached that age.

Scouting was a good thing in those days. I met other kids outside of my immediate neighborhood and had lots of great experiences. We went on campouts and traveled to New Mexico for hiking and to Minnesota for a canoe trip. Every week we met for a meeting and a time of games and activities.

I was teased a lot by people, but I doubt if it was much more than any kid experiences. Think about your own childhood. What did you get teased about? Maybe you had red hair, a big nose, a funny voice. Maybe you were tall, short, fat, or skinny. Kids hone in on what makes you different and laugh at you.

My parents were good at helping me to see that I was no special case where it came to teasing. They also helped me see that I could win people over by not getting so upset by it. Humor became my tool of choice. I took pride in making my teaser laugh.

Usually the kids who teased me just didn't know me. After a while, I was just the kid with the coke bottle glasses. I seem to remember many more friends than teasers.

Tomorrow, I will talk about my transition into public school and the act of congress it took to get me there.

Until the next time
John Strain

My life Part I: The way I see it

I was standing outside watching Bear the other morning. He was about 30 feet away from me when he hiked his rear leg and let her fly. I saw the yellow stream of pee sparkle in the sun.

No big deal right? Well, for me it was unusual to see something like that. I am legally blind or 20/200 corrected. My entire life, people have asked me how well I could see.

The less sophisticated upon hearing I am legally blind often held up a few digits and asked me, "How many fingers am I holding up?" Others were more clever with their query, but it was always a difficult thing to convey.

I don't know how well "normal" people see so I have nothing of which to compare to my particular affliction. Sight has many nuances and me being able to see Bear's pee stream from that distance was because the lighting was perfect. On a cloudy day it would be a different story altogether.

My poor vision has shaped my character. I have had to do things out of necessity I never would have chosen otherwise. I have been challenged and forced to find other ways to do what most folks do "the easy way."

People with normal vision often marvel at what I can do and how I overcome the handicap. I appreciate their recognition, but it is also a bit embarrassing. I am only doing what I want to do. A person with no arms learns to do things with their feet. Handicaps are just extra hurdles one clears on their way to accomplishing a goal.

So back to the stream of dog pee. As I saw it, I reviewed some familiar thoughts. The process is circular. I begin by wondering what it would be like to see better - normally. I think about how my life would be different. Then I think about how my life has been different because of the way I do see. Like rehashing a bad call in a football game when it is over, the score does not change. It is what it is and I see what I see.

Poor eyesight worked out for Claude Monet. He saw things differently and because he could paint, others got to see a kind of beauty they did not know existed.

I look at my own level of vision similarly. My humor and thoughts are composed from the data I have at my disposal. My senses construct a certain image and my mind goes from there.

I can't make eye contact like most people do. I can look at you, but I am not locked onto your eyes. I might miss a wink or a subtle movement, but is that so bad? Some folks interpret such communications and stop talking or change what they were going to say. I forge ahead running stop signs I didn't even know were there.

I have had to grasp the concept of "different." There are different ways to do things. The most obvious ones are not always what I can do.

I am thankful for many good friends throughout the years. They have chauffeured me many miles and read restaurant menus to me quietly and discretely so I wouldn't stand out like a sore thumb. They have made fun of me - thank goodness and one friend even gave me a nickname. The BMF or blind mother "you know what." What would we do without friends?

One of my good friends Linda, who reads this blog for lack of anything better to do, even tipped me off when there were good looking girls around.

Guys tend to point out to each other any desirable members of the opposite sex for what we'll call group admiration. Well there was this one girl at work we frequently admired. Linda played along. We were sitting in the cafeteria one day and this particular girl walked in. Linda told me, "John, there's your friend and I think its cold in here to her." She explained that she felt obligated to share that with me since I couldn't see it and the usual guy friends weren't around. This way, I could report to them that so and so was showing. . . I mean felt cold in the cafeteria.

So you see poor vision has not kept me from becoming a pervert. Sure I miss seeing things like what women will do in New Orleans to get beads. But; and it is a big but, sometimes I am thankful I cannot see very well.

Some of the things I have seen at work are bad enough without being able to see them better. I won't elaborate, but suffice it to say, poor vision sometimes has its advantages.

Like I said yesterday, life is too short. Life is certainly too short to become bitter and mad at the world for something I cannot change. Life is too short not to use the eyes I have knowing that some folks cannot see anything at all.

Eyes do not affect vision and even blind people can have 20/20 insight.

Tomorrow I will explain just what is wrong with my eyes and a bit more of my story.

Until the next time
John Strain