One day in college, I learned a very important lesson, one that was worth twice the tuition of most of my classes. I was relaxing outside of Bartlett Hall between English classes when a tall, hulking blind man neared my bench with his cane. It was obvious he had lost his direction. His cane got closer and closer to my feet, and I watched it with silent dread until it smashed into my shoes and I shifted audibly. “Sorry,” he muttered, turning around. “It’s okay,” I said, embarrassed. A girl I knew from one of my classes approached him and said in an assertive voice “Would you like a sighted guide?” He took her arm and they walked away.
Sometime later in the semester, the same girl revealed in a class discussion about some book that her mother was blind. I forget the specifics, but I remember clearly she said “I’ve seen people on campus ignore blind people who were lost, as if they weren’t there!” I felt unjustly reprimanded, because it’s not like I was an unkind person, I’m just shy. I thought offering assistance would be subjugating or belittling, as if to say “Hey Mr. Blind man! You’re failing miserably at independence!”
Today, I got off aT stop early to buy some flowers from my favorite sidewalk vendor, and I was walking through the corporate area of Kendall Square filled with harried commuters. Approaching an intersection, I saw a blind man standing in slow-moving traffic, trying to feel his way around a huge, stationary SUV. The driver, a suave-looking stuffed shirt, eyed him helplessly, perhaps wondering if a good horn-honking would make the blind man fly away like a bird.
A group of pedestrians at my intersection looked on worriedly. The light changed, the traffic stopped and everyone looked relieved as they hurried across the intersection, past the blind man still trying to find his way. I stopped next to him. “Would you like a sighted guide?” I asked clearly, and he turned towards my voice and said “Yes, thank you!” He took my arm and we walked across the intersection.
“Where are you going?” I asked brightly. “The Kendall Square T stop,” he said, which was not only in the opposite direction but a good five minute walk behind me. “Okay, let’s turn around then.” “Oh, I was going the wrong way? Huh!” He seemed amused at himself. “Your flowers smell nice” he said as we walked. I could have sent him the rest of the way on his own, but he seemed to enjoy having someone to walk with, and honestly, so did I.
