by Catherine A. Jacobson

(Editors' note: Catherine Jacobson is a long-time Federationist who works as a Health Equity Strategic Initiatives Project Manager at Health Partners. This perceptive piece was in the works well before we knew its author's father would become our affiliate president.)

“What’s it like having blind parents?”

“I don’t know. What’s it like having sighted parents?”

This is an all-too-often back-and-forth inquiry discussion I have had throughout my entire life. This question comes from friends, parents of friends, teachers, coaches, managers–basically anyone who knows I was raised by two blind parents. My inverted question back to them is always a shock. They have no idea how to answer what it’s like to have sighted parents, and I explain that I have the exact same difficulty answering their question.

Having blind parents is my "normal"—I couldn’t imagine it any other way. I have never paid extra attention to how my parents parent because, as a child, why would I question this? The honest truth is that having blind parents is not inspiring, unique, or extra exciting at all. I have cherished loving family memories, embarrassing moments I wish I could forget, trips I always want to remember, and lessons I learned from them. But it’s not because they are blind parents; it’s because they are extraordinary parents, period.

I am not saying that they didn’t do things in a different way, because of course they had to use non-visual skills to raise my sister and me. But the general public’s assumption is that doing things my parents' way is worse, simply because they cannot imagine doing it that way. That mindset needs to flip. It’s not that my life was hindered by their blindness, but that having blind parents is what benefited me in so many ways.

I acquired critical values from observing my parents and how others treated our family. I learned how to be an advocate for myself and my family at a young age. I learned to disregard people's opinions who don't know any better. I learned the satisfaction of proving strangers, and their low expectations, wrong. I learned how to be humorous about disability and to not take yourself so seriously all the time, that we can laugh at ourselves and don't have to feel embarrassed that this world was not built for us. They taught me to respect them and not to take advantage of their blindness, and in return I gained their trust.

There are so many instances where, because of my parents’ blindness and non-visual skills, they are superior to sighted parents. My sophomore year of high school, some friends and I were driving to another friend's house in South Minneapolis to take photos before our homecoming dance. And naturally we got lost. I called my parents for directions. Because they have taken bus routes their entire lives and learned navigation skills, they have Minneapolis mapped in their heads. They were immediately able to tell us exactly how to get there, and I mean EXACTLY. “Drive two more blocks down, turn right, and it will be the third house on your left.”

Sure, there were some harmless untraditional things that my non-visual household taught me differentlly—for example, measuring cups. I didn’t learn until I was taking a cooking class in high school that there is a different liquid measuring cup than the dry ingredient measuring cups. My mom would always just use the dry measuring cups for liquids too, so she could feel when it was full—something I never thought was abnormal or even realized was because of her blindness, until a classmate questioned why I used the dry measuring cups for milk. To this day I still often use the dry measuring cups for liquids, and my baking turns out equally delicious.

Another non-visual technique that I unintentionally picked up was my father’s meticulous cleaning abilities. He doesn't use his eyes to tell if something is clean, he uses his touch. And let me tell you, things are so much dirtier than they appear to the eye. Especially granite countertops, and the bottoms of pots and pans. This technique has taught me to be even more of a clean freak, and it makes me wish my sighted fiancé would use more non-visual cleaning skills.

So what is it like having blind parents? It’s like any other family. We have our own values, traditions, ways of doing things, ways of helping each other, and ways to show our love to one another. We may do things a little differently, but that doesn’t mean it is wrong. In the end, I only have my experience with my parents, but they make me hope that I can someday raise children as well as they did.