Today I saw a post on twitter about a young woman who is blind being offered a braille menu for the first time in her life. The twitter post and subsequent BuzzFeed article made it seem like this absolutely normal moment was life changing for the young woman. At first it made me smile, that blindness was being discussed on social media. After a while though, it began to bother me quite a bit. I’m 24 years old and I have been blind for 23 of those years. I learned at a young age to ask for menus in braille. They aren’t always available, but in most chain restaurants they are. Because most of the general public isn’t used to interacting with those of us who don’t use our eyes to see, you have to ask for the braille version, but it’s always fun to be able to decide what you want for yourself. I myself, am a creature of habit. Once i find a food I like at any given restaurant I’ll usually just order that food because that’s what I want. The last time I was given a braille menu I used it for the purpose of showing my stepson what braille looked like in a book. I never saw something like a braille menu as anything more than I deserved. Maybe my opinion here is a product of the self confidence I’ve been actively fostering in myself over the past 2 years. But I believe the fact that what should have been seen as an ordinary moment in a young woman’s day became a news story says something very negative about how blind people are treated by the majority of the sighted public. If we as a Society are surprised and emotionally moved when blind people are simply treated like everyone else, what message does that send? From where I sit it screams that people who happen to not have eyes that work should feel very lucky when they are treated with common decency. They aren’t usually seen as full, capable, functioning members of the world, so when they are they should be extremely grateful. The sad part of this to me is that it becomes a vicious circle. Blind people are taught that they shouldn’t expect to be treated like everyone else. So they grow up not demanding the respect they should be given automatically. On the other side of this equation, the rest of the world is learning that they can, for the most part ignore blind people. When they do treat the blind like they are actually people too, they expect a parade for their goodness! I see this whole situation as just sad and wrong. I live my life demanding respect. If someone is genuinely kind to me I am thankful for that. But if I’m offered the same treatment as my sighted friends, I just call that a normal day. It shouldn’t be news worthy that a young woman who is blind was able to order dinner with the same ease as her sighted sister. Blind people need to become strong enough to take what they, as human beings in this world, deserve. And in return sighted people shouldn’t feel like saints when they do the minimum to include blind people in everyday life.https://twitter.com/buzzfeed/status/846786971385171968
I never pictured my life with a baby boy. In my head, there was always a little girl cuddled in my arms. And I did spend a lot of my life picturing that girl. No, I never pictured a little boy. That’s a good thing, because I never could have dreamed up this boy. He is energy. He is dancing around the living room, no matter how tired I may be. He is soft hair that always smells like sunshine, even in the winter time. He is long car trips singing anything we can think of. He is tiny fingers interlaced with mine. He is hugs and kisses all the time. He is pleases and thank yous. He is superheroes and Xbox games. “Harmony, do you remember Batman’s real name?” He is STILL teaching me these things! He is laughing so hard you can’t even breathe.He is light and thee absolute definition of love. And I am so incredibly blessed to be his Harmony.
There was never a time when I didn’t know I was adopted. There was no big sit down conversation about where I came from. One of my older brothers is also adopted so in my immediate family, being adopted isn’t even that special. When my brother and I were younger we’d compare our stories. I’d say, “Well at least you know who your father is.” To which he’d reply, “Well at least you’ve met your little sister.” We’d usually end up laughing at the end of this while our non adopted siblings looked on in confusion. With my parents and I there was always a disconnect around this issue. While my dad didn’t mind talking about it, he took the stand in our lives of if he didn’t need to know information, he didn’t. He always told me that the details surrounding my birth family wern’t known to him. From the time that I was very young my mom would get upset if I asked any questions about my birth mother. So as I got older I learned not to ask. The things I do know, that she was a teenager, an addict, a general wreck of a girl with a 2 year old daughter already when I was born i picked up by listening to the conversations of the adults and my older siblings. As a teenager I had a lot of anger for a woman who would give her baby away and not look back. I couldn’t understand how any drug or issue could be more important than your daughter. I couldn’t understand how she could have just walked away. As an adult I understand that 19 isn’t all that grown up. And that addictions can be very strong indeed. I understand that she did what she felt was best for her, and me. And I couldn’t see my life any other way. I couldn’t imagine a life with out my siblings and parents. I couldn’t imagine being anyone but who I am today and I owe my birth mother a thank you for making the choice she made for me 24 years ago. Accepting all of this for what it is, there is still this feeling I get every year around my birthday. I read a book once that theorized that children who are given up at birth equate their birthdays with their first sence of loss. I don’t know if I believe that, but I do know that I get this intense heartache feeling in the days leading up to my birthday. And my birth mother and little sister are constantly on my mind. I decided last year that I don’t have an interest in finding my birth mother. I don’t want answers, I’m not angry, I don’t want a new mom. And as curious as I am about my little sister, I’m not curious enough to actively look for her. Most of the time there is peace in having made all of these decisions. But for about a week every March there is just a lot of pain. The part of my heart that is still very much a little girl is just sad. She wonders how life turned out for those people she never new. She wonders too sometimes, if their ever wondering about her.