Today I muse on the gift of sight. In eighth grade Social Studies, I was assigned as a study buddy to a visually-impaired girl named Nancy. She had special stationery with bold rules and brought her head close to the paper when she wrote. I'd read her a few paragraphs out loud and the corresponding study questions, and she'd write down the answers. I was always amazed at her memory as I'd often have to go back and re-read sections to myself before generating a good response.
In high school, one of the teachers had her students pair up, with one wearing a blindfold through lunch breaks, guided by his or her buddy. Clumsy guides as some of them were, and inexperienced with having to give up their sight, I saw quite a few students trip, stall, and walk into objects in their path.
One of the best massages I got was from a blind girl in Viet Nam. Our hotel contracted with an organization that provided jobs for the visually impaired, training you by women to do in-room massages for clientele. I remember how my masseuse would feel the terrain of my back, tickling my skin with soft sensations, before adding pressure to the massage when she had mapped out and memorized my body with her hands.
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