"Don't forget your cane" I reminded my then 8-year old vision-impaired daughter Mandy as she got ready to take a walk with her Papa to the convenience store across the way to get some gummy life savers.
"Nah, she doesn't really need it" my dad insisted, his granddaughter more than willing to agree. She often welcomed a break from taking her cane with her. This was usually fine if she ventured in familiar areas when it was clear and sunny out. It was a bright beautiful day and she was with her Papa, so I conceded.
Mandy received her first long white cane shortly before entering 1st grade. I remember that first conversation with her mobility teacher vividly. She brought up the plan to introduce a cane to Mandy in a gentle, sensitive manner, as if expecting a strong negative emotional response, resistance or even outright refusal. Neither my husband Scott, Mandy's dad, nor I are one for denial. Each having been through a painful divorce several years earlier, we both tended to face the reality of inescapable difficulties head on. During the conversation with Mandy's teacher, I remember almost feeling compelled to reassure her that it was ok. I was trying to convey "No need for kid gloves. We can handle it. If you think she needs it, then she needs it." A short time later, Mandy received her first long white mobility cane. Since she started with it while she was still quite young, she adjusted to having and using it fairly well. It didn't take long for us to see its usefulness in the life of our daughter. Other people around us, however, weren't necessarily so positive or open-minded about the cane. It's funny how people seem able to handle hearing that our daughter has a incurable blinding retinal disease but then have great difficulty accepting her need for and use of a cane. Obvious signs of disability make many people very uncomfortable. Most of these people saw little of Mandy's daily struggles with mobility and likely saw her as too capable and not disabled enough to need it. My folks didn't say too much, but it was evident that they had mixed feelings at best about the cane.
Mandy and Papa went for their customary weekend candy walk. When they returned about twenty minutes later, dad seemed distraught, muttering under his breath in frustration. While Mandy amused herself in the backyard happily feasting on her treats, I heard dad murmur to my mom, "The poor kid. She tripped all over the place. Poor kid."
I went over to my Dad and challenged him. "Dad, I want you to take Mandy on the exact same walk tomorrow, but this time have her use her cane. Then, tell me how it went." He quietly obliged.
The sun rose Sunday morning and so did Mandy's suspicions when Papa initiated an unheard of second candy walk. She eagerly readied herself and gave no resistance to Papa's suggestion to grab her cane on the way out.
They returned about a half an hour later both appearing tuckered and stoical. Not surprisingly, Dad didn't instantly reveal his impression. He went to lie down for a nap. When he awoke, I went to him and asked, "Well?" Seeming to avoid eye contact, he replied in a very matter-of-fact manner, "It really does make a difference. You've done what is right for her" I know my dad. Even though he was not looking directly at me, I could see in his eyes the pain and grief that comes with acceptance. Attempting to reassure, I added, "Dad, she is still Mandy. The cane doesn't change her. She is the exact same person with or without the cane. However, with the cane she is supported and confident instead of insecure and full of self-doubt, not to mention potentially unsafe. We wouldn't take a walk without wearing our eyeglasses, right? It's kind of the same thing. She uses a cane Dad and it's ok" He managed to keep the tears which were quickly welling up in his eyes from falling down his cheeks. A quick hug and two words, "I know" were the end of the matter that day.
In the several years since during our Cape Cod weekends, the cane comes along on most excursions and stays put for others depending on factors and needs which Mandy is keenly aware. It has become such a familiar fixture in our lives that unless an outsider makes a comment or has a reaction, it is no longer debated and rarely discussed. Except, of course, when she leaves it behind nearly everywhere we go (grin)
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