Posted tagged ‘blindness’

“What is the world coming to when girls allow their hands to be kissed without gloves? That young people don’t use proper protection these days is exactly why there are always so many colds going around.”

October 21, 2013

Today is just one of those I have no ambition to do anything days. The house is already clean, the laundry done, the bird feeders filled and the dishes put away. I could make my bed, but I don’t want to and don’t care one way or the other. If I leave it unmade, it is prime for an afternoon nap. Reason enough I think.

When I was a kid, I seldom stayed home from school. The only times I did were for the big diseases like measles and mumps. I remember the room was kept dark when I had the measles so I wouldn’t go blind, one of the accepted notions in those days, and I was driven insane by lying in bed with nothing to do because I couldn’t read or watch TV. I don’t remember the mumps though we all got them from each other. I just remember my neck hurting. We must have gotten colds, but I think it would have taken pneumonia before we stayed home from school.

One of the smells I always associate with childhood and colds is Vicks Vapor Rub. My father for his whole life was a big fan. He even had a grey sweatshirt he wore every time he used Vapor Rub. It had a big greasy looking stain on the front. If we got sick, out came the Vapor Rub. We didn’t have a choice. It was the panacea for the common cold in our house. I remember how awful it smelled, but I also remember it really worked.

Nobody had pediatricians in those days. We did have a family doctor we seldom saw. His name was Dr. Devlin and his giant, beautiful house was right next to the entrance to the schoolyard. His office was on the first floor. I remember all the wood and the ornate staircase as you came in the front door. Dr. Devlin was a huge man who sat behind a huge desk. He wasn’t a fuzzy, warm doctor but he wasn’t mean either. I remember he wasn’t all that gentle. I saw him only twice during my childhood: once when I was ten and had fallen down the stairs and broken open my chin. I still have the scar. When I was twelve, the school detected a heart murmur, and my parents took me to the doctor then I went to the hospital for tests. I remember that test and being nervous because it was the hospital. Luckily, nothing ever came of it and the murmur disappeared when I got older.

I think we were seldom sick because a cold was just a cold. A cough meant cough syrup and there was always the miracle of Vapor Rub.   The doctor was for big things.

“The only disability in life is a bad attitude.”

February 18, 2013

Today is a pretty day as long as you’re looking out from inside the house because it’s cold, and that dilutes the pretty. No drips from the roof and no melting of the weekend’s snow despite the bright sun is a sign of how cold it is. I had to walk through fairly deep snow to get my newspaper, but my plowman just arrived and shoveled the walk, freed my car and made the mailbox accessible for the mail truck tomorrow. I may go out later, but then again I’m liking the warm house.

When I was a kid, there was a blind girl in a neighborhood a few blocks from mine. I didn’t know her personally, but I knew her name was Patty. I remember her eyes were set in from her face and looked black to me. I don’t know if she ever went to school. I really didn’t know anything about her. Her parents would tie a rope around her waist which allowed her to go to the sidewalk but not into the street. Patty would walk up and down the sidewalk and clap her hands whenever a car went by, and I remember how loud the claps sounded. It didn’t seem strange or cruel to me that she was tied outside. I just figured it was the safest way for her to be there. On the few occasions, I go back to my hometown, the route sometimes takes me right by Patty’s sidewalk. I always wonder about her.

Another person I remember was developmentally disabled though in those days he was considered retarded. I don’t remember his name, but he was an adult when I was still a kid. I remember he always neatly dressed in grey, heavy chino work pants, a collared shirt and a light jacket. He walked everywhere around town and shook hands with just about every man he met. My dad always stopped to say hello and shook hands and always called him by name. Just about everybody did. I know he went to all the funerals at St. Patrick’s. I don’t know about the other churches. He always sat in the back and nobody ever minded. I don’t know what happened to him. We moved away and I never saw him again.

While I was growing up, I never saw anyone else who was in any way disabled. Maybe they were kept inside the house or in hospitals or boarding schools. Patty and the man I mentioned were part of the fabric of my town. I never thought twice about their disabilities. That was just part of who they were.