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Sometimes we all need someone to turn the light on
The spectacular Show of Support “Hunt for Heroes” event was in full swing at the Horseshoe when two at our table excused ourselves to the ladies room.
There are about 30 desolate stalls in this particular ladies room when we walked inside to visit the facilities. Then suddenly — and inexplicably — the place became pitch black, with zero visibility. It was a most unsettling feeling.
During an unsuccessful struggle to find an exit, while running into bathroom apparatus in the process, one thing became clear in the darkness: Not even during “pin the tail on the donkey” does anyone really know what it feels like to be blind. After all, there’s always some light emerging from a blindfold.
This experience lasted only a few minutes, though it seemed far longer before another lady finally entered the room and rescued us by flipping the light switch a few times. We would soon learn there was an electrical short of some sort, causing the lights to go out on their own.
In any case, it was an eye-opener as our “blindness” was temporary and life resumed to normal as we reclaimed our seats for the remainder of the ceremony.
All 3,000 of us were there, after all, to honor young veterans injured in Iraq and Afghanistan. In many cases they left battle with lifetime, or at least long-term, disabilities. While none were blind, all had suffered enormous physical pain and the emotional trauma of war. There were some amputations and at least one in the group who returned home in a wheelchair.
Reflecting on the evening later, several ladies and I laughed about the bathroom ordeal. One friend noted she always carries a little flashlight in her purse. “You just never know when you’ll need it ...” she smirked.
Upon further reflection, and remembering those American heroes honored that night, it came to mind how many of us naturally take for granted things like eyesight and mobility. Too many of our troops return without one or the other.
Then I recalled, as a young collegiate journalist, accepting a challenge from a wheelchair-bound student. She was an activist for disabled people, pushing for more accessibility in places like public libraries, restrooms and elevators.
Her challenge was that I, an able-bodied 20-year-old in excellent physical condition, experience life on campus in a wheelchair for just one week and then write about it.
She was a very smart young woman, let me tell you.
Before that very long week was over, I had failed miserably in carrying out my side of the bargain. I didn’t even make it through the second full day of living as she must 24/7.
It just was too inconvenient, even painful the way people stared.
But I joined her cause with ink in the university newspaper and, through the efforts of many, about two years later the Americans with Disabilities Act was signed into law. Among other civil rights provisions, buildings became more accommodating for disabled people everywhere.
Seems like I had long since forgotten those days when a wheelchair-bound student proved me incapable, at least in willpower, to roll and not walk in her shoes.
Perhaps we all need someone to turn the lights on from time to time.
There are about 30 desolate stalls in this particular ladies room when we walked inside to visit the facilities. Then suddenly — and inexplicably — the place became pitch black, with zero visibility. It was a most unsettling feeling.
During an unsuccessful struggle to find an exit, while running into bathroom apparatus in the process, one thing became clear in the darkness: Not even during “pin the tail on the donkey” does anyone really know what it feels like to be blind. After all, there’s always some light emerging from a blindfold.
This experience lasted only a few minutes, though it seemed far longer before another lady finally entered the room and rescued us by flipping the light switch a few times. We would soon learn there was an electrical short of some sort, causing the lights to go out on their own.
In any case, it was an eye-opener as our “blindness” was temporary and life resumed to normal as we reclaimed our seats for the remainder of the ceremony.
All 3,000 of us were there, after all, to honor young veterans injured in Iraq and Afghanistan. In many cases they left battle with lifetime, or at least long-term, disabilities. While none were blind, all had suffered enormous physical pain and the emotional trauma of war. There were some amputations and at least one in the group who returned home in a wheelchair.
Reflecting on the evening later, several ladies and I laughed about the bathroom ordeal. One friend noted she always carries a little flashlight in her purse. “You just never know when you’ll need it ...” she smirked.
Upon further reflection, and remembering those American heroes honored that night, it came to mind how many of us naturally take for granted things like eyesight and mobility. Too many of our troops return without one or the other.
Then I recalled, as a young collegiate journalist, accepting a challenge from a wheelchair-bound student. She was an activist for disabled people, pushing for more accessibility in places like public libraries, restrooms and elevators.
Her challenge was that I, an able-bodied 20-year-old in excellent physical condition, experience life on campus in a wheelchair for just one week and then write about it.
She was a very smart young woman, let me tell you.
Before that very long week was over, I had failed miserably in carrying out my side of the bargain. I didn’t even make it through the second full day of living as she must 24/7.
It just was too inconvenient, even painful the way people stared.
But I joined her cause with ink in the university newspaper and, through the efforts of many, about two years later the Americans with Disabilities Act was signed into law. Among other civil rights provisions, buildings became more accommodating for disabled people everywhere.
Seems like I had long since forgotten those days when a wheelchair-bound student proved me incapable, at least in willpower, to roll and not walk in her shoes.
Perhaps we all need someone to turn the lights on from time to time.
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