Blind Leading the Blind
Chapter 6 of "Half-Blind"
If the blind lead the blind, both will fall into a pit. -Jesus of Nazareth
Woodbridge, VT ~ 2015
Woodbridge was a small enough town, but big enough to be the largest in the county, so it boasted the only hospital in a 50 mile radius, and the regional mental health facility, not to mention a new Walmart. And much to James’s delight, it also had the state’s chapter of the Huxley Center for the Blind.
He grew up in a religious household, dedicated to the faith, attending services and activities 2 or 3 times a week, but also pretty quiet about it. Worship God, work hard, help others, enjoy life. He imbibed the faith of his forebears, taking it quite seriously from a young age, with little question or enthusiasm.
His 2nd religion, as he eventually called it, came to him in high school, when he was required to do community service.
~~~
Gulfstream Beach, FL ~ 1993
“Mom, at school they just started this new community service thing. I’ve got to put in 40 hours somewhere before I graduate. That sounds like a lot.”
“I heard. Your sister told me. Have you thought of where you want to volunteer?”
“Does going to church count?”
“No. Try again.”
“Maybe I could clean up the beach or something.”
“That sounds good, although it might be better to do something that helped people more directly. How about volunteering at the nursing home?”
“Uhh, no thanks. That place smells weird. Plus I’ve been there plenty to go see Grandma.”
“I see. Well, you think about it. Maybe you could read to the little kids at the downtown community center. You’ve always liked reading.”
“Yeah, but I’m not into little kids. They’re usually crazy.”
His dad Ruben chimed in: “Well, if you don’t like old people or young people, who are you left with? People just like you, I guess.”
“What kind of help do people like me need?” James asked.
“Good question, Jimmy. Maybe if you figure that out you’ll have your answer. Now go brush your teeth, its time for bed.” Jamie said.
“OK Mom, but you don’t need to remind me to brush my teeth. I’m not 6 anymore. I’m 16.”
James watched himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. “What kind of help do people like me need?” he mumbled. His good eye wandered over to look at his bad eye in the mirror. For being blind, it didn’t look too bad. The cornea was clear, the iris a deep chocolate brown just like the other. There was a large cataract, causing the pupil to appear white, but that could be chalked up to glare in most cases. The most noticeable difference was the wandering. When he looked straight, the right eye looked down and to the right. The opposite of being cross-eyed. Some people noticed, some people didn’t. James never paid it much mind when he was young, because when he looked at himself in the mirror, he was looking straight back. But that evening, with his toothbrush still dangling from his mouth, he saw himself a little more clearly.
He spit out the toothpaste. “Mom?” he called across the house. “Isn’t there some center for the blind around here?”
Jamie looked up, turned the TV off, and swallowed hard. Ruben looked over at her.
“Mom? Did you hear me? Dad? Is Mom around?”
“Yes, I heard you. The Huxley Foundation. There’s one in Fort Lauderdale. Julie from church works there. Why?”
“Do you think I could volunteer there?”
A million memories and prayers flooded into Jamie’s mind and heart. Ruben’s eyes widened and watered.
“Mom? Are you listening?” he called as he stepped out of the bathroom.
“Yes, son. Yes, I think you could. I think that would be wonderful.”
~~~
James, a newly licensed driver, made his way to the Huxley Foundation for the Blind for his first time since he was an infant, although he was unaware of his previous visit 1,000 miles ago. That day he learned that the Huxley Foundation had at least one center in every state, providing services and support for the blind and visually impaired.
He apprehensively approached the receptionist’s desk. “Hi, I’m James DeYoung, from Gulfstream Christian School. I called about volunteering here?”
“Oh yes, so glad to meet you James. My name is Clara.” The receptionist moved out from behind her desk, grabbing a white cane, and reached out to shake his hand, looking him straight in the eye. “We’ve been looking forward to having you come. There’s someone here who would love to meet you. Follow me.”
She took her cane but clearly didn’t need it much as she strode down the hall. James was startled that this lovely woman at the front desk seemed to be blind herself. To his relief, Clara broached the subject.
“Here at the Huxley Center, many of the staff, volunteers, and board members for that matter, are blind. The doctors generally aren’t, although some of the therapists are. Our Director is visually impaired. I understand you have a visual impairment as well?”
“Yes and no. My right eye is blind, and it wanders too.”
“I see,” Clara said. “You’ll find that very few of us consider blindness as much of a disability as many of our sighted friends assume.”
“Oh, OK, good to know,” James said. “So, how can I help?” He was having a tough time keeping up with her rapid stride as she navigated the hallways.
“That’s always an excellent question, which may have unexpected answers. Do you have experience working with blind people?”
“No, not really, except for my blind eye.”
“Ah, I see.” Clara said, laughing to herself. “That was a joke. Never gets old. You’re supposed to laugh.”
“Oh, right. Haha?”
“That’s better. Here’s the library. May I introduce you to my friend Edward.”
A middle aged man sat in an overstuffed chair in the corner of the small library, which was no bigger than James’s bedroom. When James and Clara entered the room he put aside a book and stood up.
“Good afternoon, Clara. Always good to hear your voice. And who is this with you today?”
“This is James DeYoung, the young man from the school, here to volunteer,” Clara said.
“Hello,” James timidly said as he reached out his hand, which Edward ignored.
“Hello James. That’s a fine name. Half-brother of Jesus. The Greek form of Jacob, the usurper, the father of the 12 tribes of Israel. What’s your middle name, James?”
“James is my middle name, after my mother Jamie. My first name is Ruben, after my father.”
“Oh, another very fine name. Meaning ‘Look! A son!’ One of the fathers of the 12 tribes. And your last name is DeYoung, you said?”
“Yes. It’s Dutch.”
“Indeed it is. From De Jong. Meaning ‘The Younger’ of course. A very fine set of names, my young friend.”
“Uh, thanks. I didn’t pick them though.”
“Very true! But you get to live up to them.”
“What does your name mean?”
“Edward is an Old English name. A compound name, in fact. ‘Ead’ meaning rich, or lucky, and ‘Weard’ meaning guardian, or protector. So, perhaps I’m the protector of the rich, or a lucky guardian. Or somewhere in between.”
“I see,” James said.
“So I hear. I, however, do not. At least not anymore,” Edward said.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Accidents happen. My story is the inverse of the line in the old gospel song: ‘I was blind, but now I see.’ I once was seeing, but now I’m blind. But going blind has opened up my eyes in ways I couldn’t have imagined. Seeing and perceiving aren’t quite the same thing. It was a difficult road, however. And I do miss reading. But enough ramblings from an old man. To what do we owe the pleasure of you joining us this afternoon?”
“Huh?”
“He means,” Clara said, “why are you here?”
“Oh, right. I’m here to volunteer because my school has this new requirement. I didn’t want to go to the nursing home. And little kids drive me crazy. Mom said I couldn’t clean up the beach and church didn’t count. Then I thought since I have one blind eye but one good eye maybe I could help out here?”
“Perhaps so,” Edward replied. “What would you like to do?”
“Oh whatever you think, I guess. I like reading.”
“Ah yes, reading,” Edward said. “I’m not too proficient at Braille, unfortunately. The chemical accident that took my sight also did a number on my hands. Books on tape are helpful, but much of what I’d like isn’t available on tape.”
“James, would you like to read for Edward?” Clara asked.
“Yeah, sure, I guess. What do you want me to read?”
“I thought you’d never ask, my friend. How about some Kierkegaard?”
“Some what?”
“Some ‘who.’ Soren Kierkegaard was the preeminent philosopher of his day, which wasn’t too long ago. They don’t teach philosophy at your school?”
“Not really. We get a little in humanities, I guess. Does theology count?”
“Well yes, it does, in fact, especially when it comes to Kierkegaard. But if its theology you prefer we could dive into some Barth, Calvin, or Augustine, or get it right from the source,” Edward said, as he reached over and picked up a volume of the Braille Bible.
~~~
Woodbridge, VT ~ 2015
Eighteen years later James had logged many hours as a volunteer at various locations of the Huxley Center. He had also made a lifelong mentor and friend in Edward, who still lived in Ft. Lauderdale. Wherever James moved, he immediately located the closest center and dove right in, although the location in Woodbridge Vermont was by far the smallest he’d seen. Not bothering to call ahead, he enjoyed the 15 minute walk from his house, through the woods, and to the small renovated house around the corner from the hospital.
He opened the door and approached the front desk, and seeing no one, called out: “Hello? Is there anybody here?”
“James DeYoung, is that you? Edward told me I might see you here,” he heard, along with a familiar chuckle. A graceful woman rounded the corner.
“Clara? Really? I thought you retired to North Carolina with the rest of the half-backs?”
“Indeed it is me, my young friend.”
“Not so young anymore. How many years has it been? How in the world did you end up in Nowhereville, Vermont?”
“North Carolina was nice for a while. I did enjoy the milder climate, but it got too hot in the summer. After a lifetime in South Florida I was ready for something else, and somewhere quieter. My ancient and long-lost aunt, who was both estranged and strange, passed away and left me, of all people, the family farm. So here I am, a new Vermonter, putting in a little time here at the Center now and then.”
“Well it is really great to see you. Anything I can help you with?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Clara said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, since I moved into the area, I couldn’t help but think of you. Edward and I remain close, even though the poor guy is still stuck in Florida. God’s waiting room, as they say. So when I moved here he told me you recently arrived too. Anyway, we got to talking, and I guess we’re just wondering if you’re doing OK.”
“Oh,” James said. “Yeah, I’m fine I guess. Still settling in here. But I love Vermont, and the kids love it too. Their school is pretty good. Melody seems happy, although she’s still looking for work. And it’s hard to find a good church around here, but that’s not a surprise. Work is fine. The same job but now working remotely, so that’s been nice. People are friendlier here than I expected, at least most of them. I love the snow. After growing up in Florida I’m still like a little kid whenever the flakes fly. But it seems like the state’s favorite winter pastime is to complain about the winter.”
“That all sounds lovely, James. But how are you doing?”
“I don’t understand, Clara.”
“I think you do, or at least you might. I’ve been wondering, why do you spend so much time at the Center wherever you go? You’ve been named Huxley Center National Volunteer of the Year how many times?”
“Four, I think.”
“That’s a lot of dedication and time. I just wonder where all that comes from.”
“Well, it started when I was 16 when I met you and Edward, and I just kept going. So really its all your fault.”
“Ha. Touche, my friend,” Clara laughed.
“He got me reading philosophy and theology and it changed my life. He really cared about me, and still does. I’m pretty sure I was mostly there for me, not for him or the others. I guess he’s helped me see more clearly. You did too.”
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.”
“What do you mean?”
“Perhaps you’ll see.” Clara laughed softly to herself, her blind eyes sparkling.