Seeing Voices

From the source: Helen Keller speaking to a large crowd in Fukuoka, Japan in 1948. Keller is on the far right with Takeo Iwahashi and Polly Thomson beside her.

I wrote in a previous post about the summer of 2017, and what a beautiful and challenging experience it was. I might have added that just about every preconception I had about that long-anticipated summer was mistaken. What I'd thought would be hard proved easy, and vice versa. The high points I anticipated didn't fall flat, but were not the standouts I'd expected. The people I thought I'd show things mostly showed things to me instead. And, most startling, Dácil.

I knew about Dácil, of course. I'd met her, indeed, I'd been around for her birth and for the harrowing experiences that followed thereafter. I'd read about her development since then (and you can too). But really, I had no idea, or rather the ideas I did have were mostly misconceptions. Meeting her in person and the reading I've done since...well, I'm fascinated, and changed.

For those who didn't bounce out to the first hotlink, Dácil is an eight-year-old girl, daughter of dear friends, who is deaf and blind and in other ways developmentally different. Stunted in some ways, certainly, but turns out that's an overly simplistic summary and one that quite misses the point. I had assumed Dácil would be a burden to her and my family as we traveled up and down the state, visiting beaches and mountains alike impassable to someone who can barely walk. California is a land of stunning views; Dácil can only just perceive the difference between dark and light. She cannot ride a bicycle, she cannot be reassured that a long car ride will be worth it. As a parent who often bemoans the loss of freedom my two fully functional children impose, and who takes his opportunities to leave them behind now and then, well, to me the obvious thing for our visitors to have done was to leave Dácil at home.

I'm so glad they didn't, because Dácil, I suspect, appreciated what we had to share at least as much as any of our many other visitors. The sublime view of Mt. Tam from our local pool was invisible to her, but it was likewise ignored by every other child and most adults, where Dácil enjoyed the water at least as much as anyone else. I gave a boombox to both visiting families; Dácil, though almost entirely deaf, was the one who made most use of this gift, and who most appreciated my excellent electronica. Robbed of distance senses, Dácil, I believe, tasted California more vividly even than her pizza and ice cream loving sibling; certainly she lingered longer over her meals.

Dácil was a presence, mostly off in her own world, pursuing her own pleasures, but her enjoyment was shared by all and added a lot to an already special summer. A reminder for me: other isn't necessarily less.