by Michael Geister
I must admit that when coming to Ski for Light, I was a bit intimidated with working so closely with a blind person. I decided to keep a few notes on the questions I had in mind and how I handled these situations as the week progressed.
Later I was relieved to find out that in orientation we would discuss most of these very questions. I found it most helpful in preparing myself mentally. As I later found not all the examples covered then were to fit some of my experiences. This is a collection of essays in which I discuss some more impacting reflections I encountered when working with the many fine visually impaired skiers with Ski for Light.
To Help or Not to Help (that is a question?)
Often I found myself wrestling with the situation of deciding whether or not to ask a person with a visual impairment if they need assistance. At first, I found myself trying to measure their level of function and then deciding what their response to my inquiry would be. Could she handle the situation by herself? Will she be embarrassed if I ask if I can help? Will she be embarrassed if nobody does? What if he gets mad and tells me he is a grown man, able to take care of himself?
There are "gentle" instances. For example, a person is obviously headed the wrong way. Now I know that he will eventually find out he is turned around. But he might also appreciate my assistance. In a situation such as this, there is time to compose my thoughts and approach the situation with tact and eloquence. There are also "quickie" instances that call for a snap decision. I encountered an example where one man was heading toward a pole. I knew he was going to miss it with his cane but clip it with his shoulder. Should I yell "Watch out!" and possibly embarrass him or should I let him bump into the pole? The "quickies" are by far the most difficult for me to handle. In this instance, I didn't have enough time to get across the room and help the man, at least not tactfully. I came away from the situation a bit shaken and feeling that I had somehow failed. But later I realized that he probably handled it far better than I did. In fact, I'm sure he would not be able to recall such a minor incident the memory for me though will last a long time.
I had the opportunity to talk with Mary who has been blind since birth. She related to me an instance when she walked into a crowded restaurant and waited to be seated. Nobody offered to help. She said she stood there for over fifteen minutes feeling embarrassed and alone before she left the restaurant in tears. She said the things she now fears the most are crowded restaurants.
After listening to Mary's story, I realized that the best thing I can do is ask. The person may decline, but at least he or she would not be put in an awkward situation. Inside I still wrestle with the comfort of it. To some extent, I think most people do. But now it is not any more uncomfortable than asking any total stranger.
Worth a Thousand Words
How do you describe the clouds to someone who has never seen them? They are not audible, palpable, fragrant, or palatable. I unexpectedly ran up against this paradox while skiing with my totally blind skier. When we first arrived at the ski slope, I thought it necessary to describe where we would be spending the next seven days. But how could I know the words to accurately portray this lovely place. It reminds me of a story I had heard as a child of the three blind men trying to describe an elephant. Each had a definite picture in his mind depending on which part of the elephant he felt. After consideration, I decided to explain things not as I saw them, but as we could both "feel" them. For example, when we arrived, I thought we should experience the mountains. For the next several minutes, I stood behind my skier Cheryl, took her hand in mine and traced the peaks and valleys of the surrounding mountain. We traced the creek bed in the valley below us and followed the trails around us with our fingers. Without moving from our spot we explored the whole valley in a matter of minutes. I was pleased to see her smiling and asking questions about everything we "saw."
Occasionally, we would stop to crush a few pine needles and experience their scent or feel the texture of bark on a hundred-year-old tree. Since Cheryl was from southern California, we compared textures of the snow from fluffy, to grainy, to crusty. We listened to sounds of people talking a mile away and the way a skier sounds as he comes swishing past. We found the wind blew differently through bushes and trees. If we listened carefully the trees seemed to talk to each other. They groaned about how the wind was the hardest on them. In all, I think showing the surroundings to Cheryl was as enjoyable and enlightening for me as it was for her. I had to think of the irony that by closing my eyes I saw things better.
As we enter the Twilight Zone in preparation for working with the visually disabled, we trainees had the pleasure of experiencing sightless skiing with the aid of a blindfold. I had tried some sightless activities like blindfolded rock-climbing and even racquetball. But skiing was different. I felt isolated on top of those boards on my feet with no direct contact to the ground. Not only was my vision impaired, but so was my sense of touch.
Most noticeable were my perceptions (or imperceptions) of slope and speed. There was only one speed while blindfolded I discovered. FAST. Slope came in two varieties however, "That wasn't so bad." and "I don't think so!" The most amazing thing about being blind that I either forgot from my experiences or never realized was that the Earth seemed to shrink. In fact, I could tell you exactly how big the Earth was. Our planet had exactly a three-foot radius from the point where I was standing. Period.
In Other Words
My orientation in preparation for working with the visually disabled addressed the issue of speech and phrases when talking to someone who is blind. Basically, they said "don't worry about it. Speak as you would to anybody else." Conceptually that sounds logical, but in practice it was difficult for me. Phrases like, "See what I mean?" and "See you later." were not a problem. I can accept those as common terms. What I did have trouble with were instances like, "May I show you the difference?" or "Would you like to see my skis?" There were so many terms and instances that pertain directly with a person's ability for sight that at first it was overwhelming. After a while, I started questioning myself. Was I Freudian slipping all over the place or was the American language made for the sighted. I opted for the latter.
I've come to believe that the human being is a very visual animal. Almost all socially interactive situations, languages, and leisure activities have strong visual components along with nearly every single object manufactured. I could go on but the list is endless. The question is, why? I believe that vision is the most versatile sense we possess. We can tell distance, shape, texture, and estimate weight, taste sound, and smell of nearly every object we see. I have come to have a deep respect for a visually impaired person's ability to function in a world designed for the sighted.