By Brook Sexton

(Editors' Note: Those who doubt that a blind person can successfully raise a child have often not stopped to consider that many adults are walking around in the world today who grew up being taught, kept safe, and provided for by blind parents. Here is another such grown-up—one of seven siblings raised by a blind mother—to share her insights on her own experiences).

I don’t remember this story, but at the age of three my mother asked me to pick up my toys. I must have already internalized the fact that I was blind and that, somehow, blindness meant I could get away with things because my response was: “I can’t because I’m blind.” I can clearly imagine her saying in return: “so am I. So go pick up your toys.” I’m told this stopped me in my tracks and I completed the job as requested.

In the third grade, I was complaining about a homework assignment that was supposed to be “fun”. It was either a word search or crossword puzzle, and I didn’t think it was fair how I had a disadvantage in completing the assignment. My mom suggested she call my teacher and exempt me from the assignment. I was mortified and said to my mom, pretending to be my teacher: “blind children cannot do word searches!” It became a common phrase in my home to say: “Blind children cannot do (insert an activity)” It was said in a mocking tone and was meant to bring levity to moments when a task or job seemed to be unfair or where barriers existed. It was our way of reminding ourselves that society had low expectations of blind people and these expectations were often ridiculous.

When I was ten, my mom was taking orientation and mobility lessons and allowed me to come with her on one of them. She was working in the mall and I, being a bit of a show-off, walked really fast, to the point the instructor asked my mom to wait for him while he caught up with me. My mom loved to tell that story because she was happy that her children excelled in ways she felt she was lacking.

As I became a teenager, my mom had gained more confidence and started traveling on public transit to meet her blind friends and would often take me and my siblings along. I distinctly remember going to the city with her friend Alice. Alice was an expert in asking for customer service. My mom wanted me to be exposed to people like Alice so I could see the different ways blind people solved problems.

I was visiting from college after attending blindness skills training when my mom invited me to go to work with her. She was teaching a young man how to cut meat. She explained that the best way to do this was to place the knife along the backside of the fork so that you had a straight line to cut along. She further explained that if you tried to use the front of the fork it’s harder to judge the size of the piece being cut. When her student left, I asked her why she never showed me that technique. She explained that she thought my sighted dad or other siblings had taught me. Observing her teach someone else taught me a lifelong skill that had been so hard before that day.

When I was at the age where my sisters and I were learning to read and loved playing pretend, we would play school. My sisters would teach me to write print and I would teach them to write braille and Mom would join in and tell us stories from her own imagination.

I loved reading silently but often dreaded reading out loud. My younger brother loved being read to and convinced my mom to read books to him. It was through her example of reading out loud that I began practicing being fluent and expressive and gained confidence in this skill.

My mom and I share a love for writing. Throughout my adult life we talked about the different pieces we were writing and helped develop the stories or narrative. She and I were great partners in all my essay and speech writing endeavors. I loved that it was so easy to share a braille page or braille file with her and she loved getting feedback on her writing though she was embarrassed about her ability to spell.

I have a journal entry I wrote when I was 6 years old that talked about my mom going away to guide dog school. I was so proud to have a blind mom. When she scheduled a meeting with the director of special education to discuss my middle and high school placement, I again was proud and learned the power of advocacy.

My mom insisted that I go to college. It was her lifelong dream to be a college graduate; and, while she never obtained that goal, many of her children did. She was constantly finding opportunities for me and my six siblings to stretch and grow beyond her own opportunities. This sometimes resulted in her being jealous of us. I spent many days trying to convince her that, one, she could do more than she believed possible; and, two, that she had raised seven dynamic children with a variety of interests and goals in life because of her confidence in herself and her children.

My mother had an adventurous spirit but didn’t often have the blindness skills to execute all of the experiences she wanted to create for our family. For example, she always wanted to go on day trips to the ocean, a museum, or for a festival in the park, but she saw her inability to drive as a barrier and often lamented over the missed opportunities. What my mom didn’t realize then, and I have since learned, is that every one of us has unrealized hopes and dreams that are part of this experience we call life.

It’s stories like these that demonstrate the powerful example my mother has always been in my life. My mom was not perfect. She and I fought often, and she was great at guilt tripping me into visiting her instead of a friend. She made her share of mistakes as a parent, as all parents do, which taught me that mistakes are part of learning and growing.

The overwhelming majority of my negative experiences of being a child of a blind mother involve the low expectations of other adults about blindness. When raised by a blind mother, many people focused on the mechanics of blindness and parenthood, but for me and my siblings it was natural and normal. Mom wrote plays; she taught us to do chores; she expected us to be kind; she read and wrote braille; cared for us through health and sickness; used a dog or cane to travel; taught us to cook; rocked us to sleep; hired drivers; taught us to take the bus; disciplined us when we were naughty; and was blind.

I am grateful for the everyday example I had in my mother as my first and most cherished example of blindness. She will always be my hero for overcoming her own misconceptions about blindness and instilling in her children a positive attitude. Society’s view of my mom in general is one of disbelief and skepticism about my mom’s capacity to parent. My view is one of love and respect because, to me, she is just Mom, and I know she loves me and I love her.