Hello there and welcome to our newest segment: Where we highlight important
articles on topics pertaining to advocacy.
We are introducing this segment based on several requests that we have
received from readers.
Please feel free to send us your feedback and if you wish us to publish your
own articles then by all means send it along to info@sterlingcreations.ca
Please take a moment to subscribe to our newest newsletter:
‘Let’s Talk Tips’ is your monthly resource for the most current and reliable
informational tips available in the areas of Technology, Nutrition, Media,
Business, and Advocacy.
http://bit.ly/ADJSubscribe
With best wishes
From the business desk team
Follow us on Twitter @accessibleworld
+++++++++++++++
What Does “Blind” Have to Do with It?
The Right to Parent from a Sighted Daughter’s Perspective
by Joanne Gabias
Braille MonitorAugust/September 2018
From the Editor: As we struggle for the right to raise the children we have
brought into the world or have chosen to adopt,
many of us rely on our own experience to provide encouragement, counsel,
and the assurance that there are time-tested techniques that blind people
use in raising our children to be normal, happy adults. We think
we see this in our children and in the children raised by other blind
people,
but many of us long for a verbal affirmation that what we think we have
provided is really so
and that our children don’t feel that they have received a second-rate
upbringing. If ever there was an affirmation
that one sighted daughter believes that she got what she needed to become a
self-sufficient,
well-balanced adult, Joanne Gabias provided that testimonial to the
convention. Here is what the daughter of Paul
and Mary Ellen Gabias said on the morning of July 7, 2018:
Hello, everyone. My name is Joanne Gabias, and I am honored to speak to you
all today.
I was four months old when I attended my first convention. Although I’ve
missed some throughout the years,
this is my twenty-first. [applause] I have come to convention by plane, by
train,
by bus, and by car. I was hoping to go by boat next year, but it would be
hard to
accomplish going from Arizona to Vegas. Maybe 2020 will be in Hawaii or
Puerto Rico.
My convention experience has changed over the years. I used to be at NFB
Camp or what is now called NFB Child Care with my brothers Jeffrey, Philip,
and Elliott.
I remember at the Atlanta convention all of the kids went
to the Coca-Cola factory. I got really sick because I pigged
out on all the free soda from all over the world. My parents wouldn’t
normally let me drink soda.
That was an early lesson on how parental advice is worth considering even
when they’re not there to make you do
what they say.
When I was too old to be babysat, I started working for NFB Camp, and
now I am a blindness professional. [applause] Before you all think that
my childhood is what got me into this field, I would like to point out that
I never even
knew that the field of orientation and mobility existed until I was
finishing my undergraduate degree
and didn’t know what to do with my life.
I love my degree in linguistic anthropology, and I wouldn’t
change it for the world. But I couldn’t make a living wage as an
anthropologist
unless I became a university professor,
something I definitely didn’t want to do. In fact I always said I would
never become a teacher or go into psychology because that is what my dad
does, and everyone assumed I would follow in his footsteps. Well, now I
know never say never, because I obtained my masters in guidance and
counseling,
and I am currently an orientation and mobility instructor at
SAAVI Services for the Blind in Tucson, Arizona.
I am here today for you, for your kids, and for the future children of
blind parents. I hope that my story will help you convince doubters that
children of blind parents can and do live wonderful lives. [applause]
People made a lot of assumptions about my life growing up—some true and some
not so true. Both of my parents are totally blind due to retinopathy of
prematurity. When people learn that, I get comments like,
“Oh, I’m so sorry;” or “Wow, how is life growing up with blind parents?;”
or “Oh, you must’ve been a big help around the house.”
Most children of blind parents can probably list off a bunch of other naïve
comments that we get all the time. My answer is always, “Well, I didn’t know
any different,
so it was normal to me.” And, quite frankly, my childhood was a pretty
typical one.
During my schooling at Louisiana Tech University, I attended immersion
at the Louisiana Center for the Blind. Even after my immersion ended, I
attended a
seminar at least once a week throughout my entire program.
One time the seminar question was “Who is the first blind person you met,
and how old were you?” Pam Allen called upon me to speak. I told the group
that
I was in kindergarten when I met my first blind person.
Clearly that’s an odd answer coming from a child whose parents are blind.
It was in kindergarten that I first realized what people meant
when they use the word. Before then, my parents were just my parents. My
parents fed me, dressed me, and took me to school. My experience wasn’t
any different from anyone else’s. I also thought it was weird at the age
of four that everyone would say to me, “Oh, you must be a big help
around the house.” Like what the heck was that supposed to mean; I’m
four! I’m pretty sure that those comments ingrained in me and my
brothers the determination to do the least amount possible around the house
outside of our chores. Even getting us to do those were hard; so
Mom, next time you need to yell at Elliott to take out the trash, blame
it on the world for making us want to prove that the stereotype of
saintly children helping their poor blind parents wrong. [applause]
I was spoiled. My mom made my breakfast and lunch every day until I
graduated
from high school. Even in university, if I asked or if she saw I was
stressed with work or school, she would make me food. When I go home to
visit, I have a list of favorite foods that I ask my mom to make.
As everyone knows, there are just some things that taste better when mom
makes them.
There were expectations, too. On each of our thirteenth birthdays, my mom
taught
us how to use the washer and dryer. She said, “You are a teenager now.
I’m no longer doing your laundry. If you want clean clothes, you’ll
have to do them yourself. [applause]
My family has always been very health-focused. My dad runs the Gabias
Wellness Center out of our family home. Some of you might have met him
in the exhibit hall talking about all the Nikken wellness products they
offer.
When I was younger, my dad was very strict about what we ate. My
brothers are so lucky that he let up as we got older, but, as you know,
parents are always the hardest and the most cautious with the first born.
I even have proof. All the pictures from my first birthday party show my
dad following me around making sure I was okay. I was running
away with an annoyed look on my face. I already wanted to be my own person.
By the time they had their fourth child, my parents were just satisfied that
the youngest was wearing clean underwear.
When I was in kindergarten, my mom made a cake to bring to my class for my
birthday. My parents had chosen not to have chocolate in our house, so my
mom tried to make a cake using carob. If you have never worked
with carob, it frankly tastes like dirt. My mom made carob frosting as
well, a double dose of yuck. Carob doesn’t spread well. The frosting
started clumping and breaking the cake. It was just a mess. I think
Apple must’ve seen a picture of this cake because they made an emoji
that looks exactly like it. [laughter] I think voiceover calls it the
smiling pile of poo.
I remember that day so vividly. The teachers tried to shush
the kids when they asked why the cake looked so weird.
The teacher assumed that it was because my mom was blind. I was annoyed,
because I knew it wasn’t my mom’s blindness or her cooking skills. It
was because of that stupid carob.
Mom can bake good stuff. I planned a surprise sweet sixteen party for my
best friend, and my mom made a giant chocolate (real chocolate) heart-shaped
cake with raspberry filling. Everyone loved it so much that all of
my friends asked her to make one for their birthdays as well.
Misconceptions and confusing problems caused by other factors with
problems caused by blindness happen all the time. My family lives in the
beautiful Okanagan Valley in Kelowna, British Columbia, Canada, minutes
away from a spectacular lake. When I was ten, my family bought a
speedboat. Growing up we spent most of our summer on the lake
waterskiing, tubing, wakeboarding, and swimming. Our family knew a man
who drove for us. It was only natural that he would also drive our boat.
When I was twelve our driver had a stroke and was in the hospital for
most of the summer. My dad tried to hire random people to drive the
boat. The cab driver he chose bent the propeller when he ran aground.
The twenty-one-year-old son of a friend gouged the side of the boat
while docking at a cost of $250. Dad was so annoyed with incompetent
boat drivers that he started looking into the boat licensing process. He
found out that twelve-year-olds can get a boat license in Canada.
Conveniently I had just turned twelve, so I was volunteered. He paid for
me and two of my friends to get our boat license. Dad sat in the class
as we learned nautical rules and took the licensing exam, which we all
passed.
The only problem was that we completed the class without ever
coming near a boat. The next day my dad took me out on the boat at 6
a.m. when there weren’t many boats on the lake and showed me what all
the controls did. His family owned a boat when he was growing up, so he
had been around them all his life. Whenever my dad gets a new gadget of
any kind, he figures out every button, lever, and widget. So he knew
exactly what to do with his boat.
I remember being extremely nervous because of my dad’s
high expectations. I remember my dad telling me, “Put it in full
throttle and turn the wheel.” That scared me.
I said, “We’re going to flip.”
Firmly he said, “If you don’t do it, I will. You need to know how the
boat will react to whatever you are doing.”
Everything I learned about boating, towing a waterskier, docking, and just
cruising
along I learned from my dad.
I would like to point out that I have
never put a scratch on our boat, and neither have my three
brothers who were also taught by my dad. [applause]
When we all started to learn how to drive cars, my dad insisted that we take
formal lessons. Dad went to every lesson with us. My dad went
through the program four times to be exact. If he couldn’t make it to a
lesson, he would have to reschedule because he wanted to make sure that
he knew what we were being taught and that we were doing what we were
supposed to do when we were driving alone. Even though he wasn’t the one
directly teaching us this time, my dad was very much at the center of
our driving experience.
As I grew older, I became more and more independent. I traveled all over
Canada and the US. I even went to France, Guatemala, New Mexico, and
Belize in high school and in college. Even when you’re legally an adult,
sometimes you
still need help from your parents. When I came back from Guatemala,
my cell phone stopped working. I had insurance, so I brought it in to
get it fixed. I spent three months contending with loaner phones that
didn’t work and my original phone coming back to me more
broken than before. I was complaining to my mom that they kept giving me
the runaround, so she came to the store with me. But my mom is a very
calm person. She doesn’t really raise her voice, but when she’s mad, you
know it. My mother calmly but powerfully explained that this was
unacceptable, and they needed to figure things out. Just like that I got
a new upgraded phone at zero cost to me. If I had known that this
would’ve been the outcome, I would’ve brought her in the first place.
This skill is something I still don’t possess. I think my brother Jeffrey
inherited this
skill. Luckily for me I can still call on my mom when I’m in need.
Some kids are denied the chance to grow up learning from their parents,
especially children of blind parents. When I was in the fifth grade, my
life could’ve changed drastically. Some random lady came to school and
separately pulled my brother and me out of class. She started asking me
questions about my parents: whether my father hit my brother or if I was
safe at home. I thought they were the weirdest questions ever. I was
sure that they took the wrong kid out of class. These questions didn’t
even remotely make sense in my life. When I came home, my mom was very
upset. The random lady had been to our home too. I told her about my
experience. My mom became livid. She had not been given the courtesy of
being told that they would be interviewing us at school. The weird lady
was from social services.
Someone made an anonymous call about my
parents. The complaint was that my dad might—just might—have hit or spanked
my brother, our house was messy, and that my brother went to school
with a dirty shirt. Can anyone in the audience tell me that your
house is never messy and that your kids or you have never dirtied a
shirt? I sure can’t.
After talking to us kids and visiting our parents at home, they realized
that the complaint was unjustified. Luckily they never bothered us
again. [applause] But that one incident has lingered with my mother to
this day. All of her children are legal adults, yet she still wonders
who called social services. We all know that social services didn’t show
up because my dad might’ve spanked my brother or because of a messy
house or because of a dirty shirt. They came because the caller said that
both parents
were totally blind. That was the real issue. It didn’t matter that my
mother was a stay-at-home mom or that my dad was a
university professor. Even though we had a parent at home to take care
of us and a parent making sure we had the money to live a happy and
prosperous life, the thing that mattered to the social workers was that
my parents were blind. I know that many other parents have either
experienced this visit or live in fear of this visit.
I recently testified at the Arizona House of Representatives in favor of the
right
to parent bill which was passed and signed into state law this spring.
[applause]
One of the committee members was asking a lot of naïve
questions about how my parents knew when we were doing something wrong.
He seemed convinced that I probably got away with a lot of things
because my parents couldn’t see. I told him that when my brother Philip
was still in preschool, my mother took him to the store with her. While
she was busy in the checkout line my brother quickly grabbed a pack of
gum. On the way out mom noticed that he was being very quiet. She heard
him fiddling with something. She did a quick search of his pockets and
marched him right back into the store and asked for the store manager.
She made my five-year-old brother confess what he had done and
apologize. [applause] Then she paid for the gum. The store manager said,
“Well, you’ve paid for it now, so you can have it back.” My mom said,
“Absolutely not! I’m not rewarding this behavior; throw it out.” My
brother was so embarrassed that he never stole from a store again.
[applause]
The committee member seemed unconvinced. He said, “Well, he was young. I
have teenagers. It’s really hard to keep track of them.”
The ways that my brothers and I got caught may be unconventional, but no
matter what,
we always got caught.
In middle school the fad was to have your midriff showing,
a fad that happens to be coming back recently. It’s funny how many things
have come back from the 90s. Shout out to the 90s babies out there! [cheers]
Well, I wasn’t allowed to show off my belly, but I wanted to
be fashionable. Besides, it was hard for me to find shirts that fit
because I’ve always been tall. I’ve been five-foot-nine since the seventh
grade.
Before I left for school, my parents would ask for a hug.
This is how they would sneakily check to see that my shirt was long
enough. My dad would ask for a hug from my brothers to check their breath
to see if they had brushed their teeth. I could go on and on
about all the ways we got caught, so when someone says “Oh, you must’ve
gotten away with
a lot of things,” I just laugh because they are so, so wrong.
When I was in high school, I did an exchange program. Sara, a girl from
Québec, was to spend six weeks in my home, and I would spend six weeks
in hers. We had to fill out a profile about our life, interests, parents,
what they did for work, etc. There was no line asking if my
parents were blind, so I didn’t write anything. It wasn’t important. We
got each other’s paperwork in June, but Sara didn’t come until the end of
January.
On her way to our home, she met the program coordinator who remarked
on how brave Sara was to come to a home run by two blind
parents. Sara started freaking out. She even called her mom. Her mom
told her that she should just see what it was like before she panicked
and came home. When Sara arrived at the Kelowna airport, my dad and I were
waiting for her with a big sign saying, “Bienvenue Sara,” meaning
“Welcome Sara” in French. We picked up her luggage, which my dad carried.
When we got home, mom made her a snack, and we talked with my
parents for an hour before my new friend and I went to my room. She
finally told me about her conversation with the coordinator and said, “I
realized once I got here that your parents are supernormal, but why
didn’t you tell me before?” I told her it wasn’t important to me, so I
didn’t really think it was necessary to say anything.
As things developed, I was happy I hadn’t told her. When I asked her what
she
would’ve done if she had gotten this information in advance, she
admitted that she wasn’t sure she would’ve even come.
Sara had a great time. It became so much more than a nice trip. We call each
other
sisters to this day. [applause]
When she had a semester off a few years later, Sara decided to come back
to Kelowna and live with us for three months. Not only do their flesh and
blood
love my parents, but so do my friends.
Sara was not the only one who lived with us either. I had four different
friends live with my
parents over the years. My house was the place to be. I wish my
grandparents could see our family now.
My grandmother was very upset when my dad
married a blind person. She didn’t have a problem with him
being blind, but she was scared that if he married another blind person,
their children would grow up socially awkward because they wouldn’t learn
any visual
social cues. My grandmother died when I was one, so she
didn’t get to see any of us grow up. I know my grandmother is biting her
tongue up in heaven right now.
My mother, Mary Ellen Gabias, used to work at the national office in the
80s. She was in charge of the Job Opportunities for the Blind. My
father, Paul Gabias, met my mother through that program briefly and then
again while attending a leadership seminar. My mom happened to be one of
the ones giving a tour for the seminar group. If you have ever been to
the national office, you know that everyone helps out where they are
needed no matter what their position may be. Well, my mom says that that
was the worst tour she ever gave. Anything that could go wrong did. The
ancient freight elevator got stuck with everybody onboard, among other
minor disasters. My father, however, knew he had found his future wife
even if she didn’t know it yet.
So I would like to thank the National Federation of the Blind. Because
if it wasn’t for this community, I would not exist. [applause] Although
I may not be blind, this is my family, I am a Federation baby, and this
is my family reunion. [applause] I am part of the next generation of
Federationists. The next generation may not all be blind, but we know
that blindness is not the characteristic that defines you, me, or your child’s
future. Every day we live with high expectations of blind people.
We don’t understand why there are low expectations. We are the
result of the dreams of blind people. We live the lives you fought for.
We know that blindness doesn’t hold you back because you have taught us.
Thank you.
https://nfb.org/images/nfb/publications/bm/bm18/bm1808/bm180812.htm
