Lessons Learned
Green
There
were so many things I had wondered about blindness and deafness, and not simply
the sterile, scientific, factual ramifications, symptoms, or causes of these
particular special needs, for infinite pages of information about and research
concerning blindness and deafness were readily available; undoubtedly enough
material to support a lifetime of articles to be written. No, I wondered about
the feelings associated with the everyday, ordinary, walking-through-life
experience of being blind and/or being deaf.
Was the silent, dark world sad or lonely or scary? Do you imagine
sounds? What would you imagine spring to sound like? In your imagination, do
you see pictures? Colors? My dear blind-deaf friend, who taught me more than
most of my college textbooks, welcomed these sorts of questions driven by
curiosity and an earnest desire to understand and be sensitive. He frequently
chuckled at the endless stream of questions that I would clumsily fingerspell
into his hand. He was pursuing a PhD in
Computer Science and was the first true genius I had ever met. One day, in the
midst of transcribing a textbook to braille, which was always an excellent time
for listening to him explain his thoughts, ideas, and feelings, I asked my
friend, “What is your favorite color?” His instantaneous response was, “Green.”
There was not a moment’s thought. There was no pensive pause for contemplation.
Just an automatic, “Green.” He had obviously considered this before and
confidently trumpeted his answer. How? and why? were my knee-jerk responses. His
beautiful response was one I will never forget. He smiled as his soft, clear voice replied, “I
know that green is the color of living things. Living things are hopeful and
fresh and lovely. Because of that knowledge, I am certain that green is a color
that I would love.” There was always
something ever-optimistic, ever-hopeful, and ever-believing about my most
amazing friend. In his silent, dark world, he ceaselessly pursued learning,
service to others, and joy. In his silent, dark world, he chose possibility and
promise and fully discarded self-pity and self-doubt. He believed. He knew
hope. He trusted in the goodness of those around him and generously gave of the
greatness that was in him. In his silent, dark world, he heard life’s music and
saw the light. He taught me.
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