On the beaten path

The Lions Club challenges participants to walk across the street with a sighted escort, while wearing a blindfold and using a white cane, to experience what it is like for a visually impaired person to get around safely and with dignity.

Malone Police Department Chief Steve Stone arrived about the same time I did, and I asked if he was going to do it.

“I will if you will,” he said, and so it was on.

He went first, assisted by Elaine Lester, one of the Lions members.

I took notes, learning about the cane with the rotating ball on the end that travels the ground and “reads” the path in front of the user.

I also found out the proper length a cane should be, where your finger goes and the sweeping motion to be used with it.

Soon, it was my turn.

I pocketed pens and camera, took off my glasses, closed my eyes and crouched down a little so Lion Nina Kelly could blindfold me.

I was surprised how dark it was under the knit material.

I was still clutching my notebook as the Lady Lions laughed and reminded me I wouldn’t really be able to use it.

I felt it slip from my hand, replaced by a thin, metal cane.

Past Lions Club President Danny Klebes was to be my escort, a man whose fine singing voice I had heard a number of times at community events in my eight years covering Franklin County.

But it was his speaking voice I was interested in Tuesday since he was acting as my eyes.

As I waited to feel his arm take my left elbow, my first swish of the cane created a soft metal clang, which let me know I’d bumped into the large grey pole that holds the traffic-light cables across Main Street.

“Good God!” I thought. “I haven’t even moved yet, and I’m already in trouble!”

I mentally kicked myself and joked how I had found the pole as Mr. Klebes verbally moved me into position at the crosswalk.

As we waited in silence for the signal to change to cross Elm Street, I suddenly became aware of the pavement cracks. I could feel them through my shoes.

I could hear dump trucks waiting at two of the intersections and knew many cars were making their way through downtown, but I couldn’t see any of it.

I thought of my husband, Jim, who has very poor vision without his glasses. Up until then, I had never really understood why he gets upset so quickly when can’t find his glasses if they fall off the nightstand and skip under the bed.

I kept thinking of him as Mr. Klebes told me the signal had changed, and we were off.

I was swishing and sweeping my cane with the best of them, trying to remember my footwork, feeling every ridge between the crosswalk bricks beneath my feet and hearing the idling engines near us.

The rotating ball on the cane was sending each skip, bump and dip in the pavement up the shaft and into my index finger. I could see them with my finger. And I could tell from the ridges and cracks when the surfaces under my feet changed from concrete to brick and back again.

It was sensory overload, and it was incredible.

We made it to the opposite side without incident, I stripped off the blindfold, and, as silly as it sounds, I was exhilarated.

I was flooded with joy that I had all of my senses are intact, with gratitude that I experienced overabundance on one level in the midst of depravation on another and with appreciation for my husband’s feelings, knowing I can be of help to him if and when his eyesight diminishes as we grow older together.

It took being blinded for a few minutes for me to see the light.

I was giddy, and I wanted to do it again.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to share my reasoning with the others waiting there or if I could have even explained why I wanted to go again.

That’s why I didn’t say a word and didn’t go for a second lesson.

I knew I would have seemed incredibly insensitive to pretend to know the hardships, challenges and disappointments that the visually impaired courageously battle every day.

And even though I had unexpected personal benefits from a news story I was working on, I also gained a real appreciation for how the visually impaired make it through the tough patches and lead productive and fulfilling lives, clued in to internal and external places and experiences the rest of us can’t know.

To see life from a visually impaired person’s point of view, take part in the next White Cane Awareness Day in your community and walk a mile their shoes — or at least the width of a village street.

You might learn something about yourself, too.