White Cane
By Marissa Hirschman '17
LAS 110: Creativity and Human Nature
On one level, Marissa’s account of her blindness and how she learned to use her cane is an inspiring story of another human being’s rising above her limitations. But the real essay is in the way her experiences connect to all our lives.
– Keith Ratzlaff
When I walk anywhere with a lot of obstacles or in a place that is unfamiliar, I always carry my cane with me. When people see this long, white beacon, they immediately identify me as someone different, someone to be looked at or inquired about. My cane causes people to make assumptions about who I am before they even meet me, sometimes before they even see what I look like. They assume that I am incapable or unintelligent. Some even think I cannot hear. When people see my cane, they identify me as a blind person, nothing more. It is true that I am blind, but I am much more than that. After people see my cane however, often that is all I am to them. Though my blindness is a big part of who I am, it does not define me. My cane is more than an identifier, just as I am more than a person with a handicap.
Each time I grew, I had to get a new cane. Each cane was a little different – a little taller, a little more sophisticated. My first cane had a small indentation on the handle where my finger was supposed to go and a stick- on foam circle where I was supposed to place my palm. As I got older however, I got new canes with no markings. I might not have realized it then, but this meant I was learning. I had learned how to hold my cane, and now, I was starting to refine my cane skills. This meant that I was learning how to use my cane as more than just a weapon, I was beginning to use it to get from place to place. I was learning to do things without being told, to take responsibility for my actions.
When I was very young, I used to drag my cane behind me. I was not very aware of my blindness, and I did not realize how important my cane really was. I did not understand why I needed to use it when I had people all around me to tell me where to go. Then, my braille transcriber, who has taught me many life lessons, taught me one of the most important things I have and perhaps will ever learn. I was walking down the hall with my class, when I ran smack into a wall. I promptly started bawling, as young children do, when Barb said “You should have used your cane.”
At first, I was angry, I wondered how she could let me run into something; I could have gotten seriously injured. Then I thought about it for a while and I realized what this seemingly pointless stick of metal was to be used for. I realized that this long stick was all that was between me and the world; and without it, I would never be able to get around on my own. When I ran into that wall, as strange as it sounds, I learned the importance of independence. I learned that relying on others was what was easy, but relying on myself was what I needed to do to get where I wanted to go. Sometimes, I still run into obstacles, literally and figuratively, but that will not stop me from getting what I want.
Though I trust myself when I am walking with my cane, sometimes, others do not. They inform me when there is an obstacle in my way, or think they must open every door we come upon even if I get there first. I know they are trying to help, but I guess they do not realize that the reason I have a cane is so I do not need people to tell me when there are obstructions in my path. Sometimes I’ll be walking, and the person walking with me will yell “Stairs!” I think they are worried that I will fall and hurt myself, but what they do not realize is that I have become quite skilled at finding such obstacles, even though it may not seem like it at times. Even if I do fall, I am not made of glass. I have fallen many times, but I have always picked myself up off the ground. When things like this happen, I find myself wanting to prove that I am capable of descending a set of stairs, so I run down them just to show that I can. This desire to prove myself has become an important aspect of my identity. I am constantly trying to prove to people that I can do things for myself and that even when I do mess up, I can fix my mistakes. I think there is something about all of us, an assumption people make that we try to overcome and disprove. Sometimes however, we must realize that the way others see us is not important, it is how we see ourselves that really matters.
Sometimes, when I walk with my cane, I get lost. I try to pay attention to what my cane is telling me, but I inevitably go in the wrong direction. It is times like these in which I must ask others for help. This is one thing that I sometimes have trouble with, as I do have a proud streak and it is hard for me to admit that I have made a mistake. I have learned, however, that sometimes I need other people to help me find my way around. Even though I think I know what I am doing all the time, the truth is I really do not. I would be lost without my family and friends. I need their advice and support to keep me on the right path, to keep me grounded. When we go off to college, we think we know what we’re doing. We think we have it all figured out, until our first load of laundry or the first time we have a bad day and our parents are not there to console us. When we are young, we strive to create our own identities without the help of others, but at some point we must realize that we need other people on our journey to becoming who we are. As Jerome Bruner puts it in his essay “Self-Making Narratives,” “We seem virtually unable to live without both, autonomy and commitment, and our lives strive to balance the two” (49.) At first we think we do not need anyone, we think we can figure out our lives on our own. We are sure we have everything under control, until we realize we do not and that we actually do need other people. We must balance that need for others with our desire for independence, and use both in order to become who we are. We are not all knowing. We are still scared kids trying to blindly find our way through life.
Though college has been a bit of a humbling experience for me, it has also made me feel freer to express my identity. When I was younger, I often worried that when I accidentally hit people with my cane, they would be angry with me and think that I was being rude. I have since realized however, that my cane is part of who I am I need it to get around, and if I accidentally hit a few people, it is okay, they will be all right. Being lightly tapped with my cane is better than the alternative of me not using my cane and running into the unsuspecting person. Also, when I was younger, I used to worry about offending people with what I said. As I have gotten older, however, I have gotten a little freer with my words. I used to be afraid to tell people what I truly thought, because I was worried that it would hurt them, or they would get upset. I have come to the realization that it is better to be honest with someone than to lie to them now and have them be surprised by the truth later. People have often told me that I am too blunt or too honest, but I think that it is important to know the truth, because then you can deal with it.
My cane is an identifier. It shows the people around me that I am blind. They must get to know me better in order to realize that that is not all my cane is used for. People must get to know me to understand that I am not just a blind person, but that I am honest, blunt, and independent. They must realize that I am capable and intelligent, and I can in fact hear what they are saying. I know people will always make assumptions about me based on the cane in my hand and what they think it means. I also know that what truly matters when it comes to my identity is who I believe I am and what I think that means.
“Patterned Perspectives” by Breanne Riesberg
Works Cited
Bruner Jerome. “Self-making Narrative”, Intersections-Perspectives on Human Nature. Ed. The Intersections Council, Tapestry Press, Littleton Connecticut, 2013. Print.