It was the late 1940s when a tall, skinny sixth-grader picked up a shiny object off the ground in her small Missouri town and became the victim of a tragic circumstance-an explosive left carelessly behind took away her vision and changed her forever. With a quietly inspirational style, Nancy Burns shares her poignant life experiences as a blind woman with the hope of educating and enlightening others about certain societal misconceptions and attitudes regarding those who are disabled. Beginning with the moment when she woke up in the hospital-both eyes bandaged-and realized she would not receive the emotional comfort and guidance she so desperately needed, Burns offers a compelling glimpse into the fulfilling world she created for herself, despite her disability. Her personal story chronicles her struggles as a young girl learning to live with her vision loss, her family's inability to acknowledge her disability, and her determined journey to acquire the skills that led her to eventually become a vocational counselor who worked with disabled clients. In Once Upon a Challenge: Hearing is Believing Burns offers an important message-the way one chooses to live with challenges becomes the key to success in life.

Once Upon a Challenge: Hearing is Believing

By Nancy L. Burns

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 Nancy L. Burns
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-5409-6

Contents

Epilogue..........................................................vPreface...........................................................ixIntroduction......................................................xiChapter 1 I Remember..............................................1Chapter 2 Suzy....................................................9Chapter 3 The Sixth Sense.........................................13Chapter 4 This White Cane.........................................19Chapter 5 The World of Mentoring and Advocacy.....................23Chapter 6 Of Toilets and Garbage Disposals........................35Chapter 7 Kids, Toys and Challenges...............................39Chapter 8 My Empty Nest...........................................47Chapter 9 A Little Common Sense...................................55Chapter 10 My Career as a Photographer............................61Chapter 11 Release the Artist Within..............................69Chapter 12 The Dark Side of Disability............................73Chapter 13 The Portrait...........................................77Chapter 14 Mirror, Mirror on the Wall.............................83Chapter 15 Dancing in Dallas......................................87Chapter 16 What Happened to Braille?..............................93Chapter 17 Cruisin' the Caribbean.................................97Chapter 18 My Spiritual Journey...................................103Acknowledgments...................................................111Endnotes:.........................................................113

Chapter One

I Remember

For many years after this trauma and my resulting blindness, I simply adjusted to what was, and tried to understand why. I had no one around to reassure and to encourage me. I somehow muddled through and learned many things during my years of muddling. No one should have to go through such life experiences without finding a mentor or an advocate for guidance. I felt alone. I felt different. I was struggling to understand my new position in the world around me.

After my injury I spent several weeks in the hospital with both eyes bandaged. I just wanted someone to hold me and to tell me it would be okay. This never happened. I remember the day I came home from the hospital and how awkward and uncomfortable it was for every one, including me. My sister and I were living with our grandparents and I was completely familiar with those surroundings. I could navigate fairly well through the house until someone left a chair or other obstacle in my way. It would take time for me to comfortably move through the house. I was always concerned that I would bump into something and look foolish. My mother, an extremely critical person, required perfection at all times from her daughters. How could I resolve this issue now that I was no longer perfect in her eyes?

This took place in the late 1940s and apparently there were no counseling services available. My family members did not know how to deal with this tragedy so they just didn't. I can't remember my mother ever saying the word "blind". My injury was simply referred to by her and others as "your accident" as if I had been the guilty perpetrator of this senseless and horrific act. I carried this erroneous guilt around with me for many years. It took some years of maturing and more than a few hours of gut-wrenching therapy to work through all of this.

My mother, Pauline, was one of two siblings born in rural Missouri. Her parents were divorced when she was very young and she was never allowed to know her father. She and her brother LeeRoy were moved around a lot as her single Mom took different jobs in order to support the family. When Mother was ten years old, her mother grandmother), met the man who would become my mother's step-father. Pauline became very fond of this man. He worked as a meat cutter, farmer, and eventually owned a feed store in a small town in Missouri. They were conservative, hard working, Southern Baptists.

Much of Mother's life is a mystery as she rarely shared many of her past experiences. It is not known why Mother became very controlling and very critical. We just know that it happened. Her constant criticism caused me to become somewhat sensitive to most criticism, constructive or otherwise. Mom spoke volumes with her facial expressions and body language. After losing my sight, my sister and I often joked about the fact that I could no longer see some of her disapproving facial expressions, but I knew they were there.

As did her mother, our mother divorced when my sister and I were very young and we were never allowed to know our father. As an adult I chose to connect with him which I did. Tragically, soon after we reconnected he died of a massive heart attack while only in his early 50's.

Years before my vision loss, an event had taken place That would eventually impact the philosophy and direction of my life. This event was the formation of the National Federation of the Blind (NFB) by a blind visionary by the name of Dr. Jacobus ten Broek. It would be many years before I would find, and involve myself, in this positive-oriented organization. But it did eventually happen and I have learned volumes about living as a successful and "normal" blind person. My developing philosophy of life was in harmony with that of this nation-wide organization of blind people.

I know beyond the shadow of a doubt the reason for my existence on planet Earth. The Universe gives each of us challenges. It also provides us opportunities with which to meet these challenges and to learn and grow as a result of them. I knew, even as a young child, that I was the same person I had always been. The rest of the world, however, did not see it that way. The real tragedy in my life has never been my lack of eyesight. The real tragedy has been the false attitudes and misconceptions of society. What a disservice society causes in the process of labeling. Labels are mostly based on inaccurate stereotypes. These stereotypes are self-perpetuating and harmful. They are not the essence of a person. It is the soul or spirit that defines a human being.

Amazingly enough, these misconceptions are picked up and held by children at a relatively early age. Perhaps that was the reason for my own concern and confusion when I lost my sight. I felt that my life as an average, "normal" (whatever that is) kid was gone, and I had no idea what I could or could not do as a blind child. Little by little I began to comprehend the importance of my other senses. With my vivid visual recall, I remembered every detail of Grandma's house. I pictured the dark wooden furniture in the dining room, including the large round dinner table. It was always covered with a crocheted tablecloth and in the middle was placed an antique footed fruit bowl. It rarely contained fruit but usually a variety of items such as pens, pencils and paper clips. If I barely touched the tablecloth I knew exactly where I was standing. My feet became accustomed to noticing the different textures between the hardwood floor of the dining room and that of the linoleum covering on the kitchen floor. Standing in the kitchen doorway, I could picture the built-in pantry in the far corner of the room. The sink was to my left and the more casual kitchen table, located in the middle of the room, was always covered with a freshly laundered cotton flowered tablecloth. The door to the back...