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How many Blind People have to be Hit before the Law is changed in Arizona?
Our Bill in the Arizona state House, HB2064, is dead. It died between committees. A lot of bills for various reasons die in committee. As many times as we called and utterly begged the chair of the Rules Committee to put the bill on his agenda, Chairman of the Rules Committee, Laurin Hendrix, would not put it on the agenda. Because all house bills have to be through committee before March 12th, the bill may still be active, but it is dead.
In order for you to understand how we got to this point, I must lay out a timeline. On May 13th of 2025, I came incredibly close to being hit by a car. The driver had ran a stop sign and came so close that I had to rear back with my cane in hand to keep from getting hit.At that time, I still had a little vision in the center but still legally blind. After I finished crossing the road with my heart racing, I discovered that a Payson, Arizona police officer was crossing. I waived him over. I asked him to go after the car and at least write them a warning for running a stop sign. He smiled, refused to do anything, and said that people make mistakes. I found out later that the woman in the white car that almost hit me was more than likely his wife. In small towns like Payson, everyone knows everyone.
Because of my background in criminal justice, I started researching the state laws in regards to blind people. To my horror, I discovered that there is an antiquated statute, 11-1024, that is somewhat of an umbrella law that covers not letting someone with a guide dog in your business and hitting a blind pedestrian. This statute only charges up to $750 and is only a level 2 misdemeanor.
Every state around Arizona has harsher penalties for hitting a blind or deaf pedestrian. On May 15th, 2025, I started calling and emailing my local representatives for Payson, Arizona. I called legislators Walt Blackman and David Marshall Sr., both of which represent my district, LD7. Legislator Blackman’s administrative assistant got back in touch with me on May 30th and asked if I’d like to talk to Mr. Blackman about updating the statute.
Walt Blackman called me on June 2nd, 2025 and talked to me about what I was looking for and how he could help. We had a productive and friendly conversation. He told me he would work on a proposal and have it to me by the end of the day. During the summer, the House is out of session and most legislators are on vacation during this time.
A few days went by, so I emailed his AA. On 6/12/2025, Mr. Blackman sent me the draft bill. I sent it to my group of blind friends that I was seeing every week whilst at ACBVI in Phoenix. We went over the draft bill and had some suggestions for the legislator.
On August 20th, 2025, Walt and I had another discussion about the bill. He offered to meet us on September 4th, 2025 at the Capitol. When I told the group at ACBVI, they were incredibly happy. Unfortunately, a lot of people in the blind community feel that no one cares about them and no one listens. This meeting was supposed to provide them with a chance to speak to someone in power. Even though Mr. Blackman, like all elected officials work for the people, they are in a position of power given to them by the people.
On the late afternoon of August 28th, 2025, I received an email from legislator Blackman’s AA, stating that he would be out of town the week after the meeting was supposed to happen and would be unable to have a meeting with us on September 4th.
All I could think about after getting that email was all the sad faces and broken hearts of people that thought for once in their lives that someone in power actually cared. It was labor day weekend. No one would answer the phone. In sheer desperation, I called a local radio station, KMOG, in Payson and asked one of the DJ’s if there was anything he could do or if he had another number for Walt. He started getting mad once I told him Walt had canceled a meeting with a group of blind people. He said he would call Walt and let me know.
I still do not know what was said or if he called Mr. Blackman while on the air, but it did get Mr. Blackman’s attention. Within 20 minutes, his AA was on the phone with me asking if I would take his call. He was very upset and angry that I had called Steve at KMOG and told the truth. Either he was confused about the dates or he didn’t think we were important enough to warrant a meeting. After yelling at me for five minutes, he finally calmed down. After I offered to file a FOIA request and play the audio of him saying September 4th, he remembered the date and apologized.
He set the meeting back up for September 4th as originally discussed. We met him in a conference room in the basement of the House building at the Capitol. The group were able to give him suggestions. He was very jovial and kind to everyone. The group was very happy they were able to express their opinions and offer assistance during this process. He told us that he would have us a finished bill in October and could pre-file it early in November for the 2026 House session.
During the month of October, 2025, I kept calling and emailing his assistant asking for an update. After numerous calls and emails, his assistant emailed us the rough rough draft of the bill on November 10th, 2025. The bill was what we asked for. Everyone at the blind center was so happy that we finally had a bill. I made sure everyone knew that we had to wait on Mr. Blackman to submit the bill.
I respectfully kept calling and emailing, pleading with them to submit the bill. I did not want the bill to get lost and never get submitted for the 2026 session. During the second week of December, I called every legislator in the Arizona state House, asking them to please inquire with Mr. Blackman about the bill. On December 9th, 2025, he called me, angry that I had called the other legislators, and told me that he would submit the bill at his time and choosing. I am a fairly well educated American citizen. It is of my extensive understanding that elected officials work for us, right?
I let it go and enjoyed the holidays and was in the process of moving at that time. I didn’t have time to call and inquire. Once the new session started in January, I checked Walt’s bills. To my delightful shock, our vulnerable pedestrian bill was listed and it had a number, HB2064. He had pre-filed it on December 16th of 2025.
The bill was read for the first time on 01/12/26 and was assigned to the judiciary and rules committees. It had its second reading on 01/13/26. The House Judiciary Committee put it on their agenda and voted 8 to 1(8 Republicans voted for it and 1 Democratic voted against it.) to pass it. The next hurdle was the Rules Committee. We waited a few weeks. It was never put on the agenda. I had a large group of blind and sighted people call and plead with the Chairman, Laurin Hendrix, to put the bill on the agenda. I emailed legislator Walt Blackman, the sponsor of the bill, several times, pleading for help or suggestions. I called countless times and left messages. Nothing.
To his credit, Walt submitted the bill. He had some great ideas and did what he said to a point. I cannot say whether he submitted the bill to shut me up or he had genuine interest in updating the law regarding blind and vulnerable pedestrians. Did the NFB, National Federation of the Blind, get involved and stop it? I don’t have an answer as of yet. I will find out.
Why would the NFB stop this bill? This bill protects vulnerable pedestrians, including the blind, and fills a gap in the law. At present, there is no restitution required if you hit a blind person. If you hit my guide dog, for example, there is no protections for the guide dog. There is no restitution. There is no education requirements with DMV drivers license testing. This bill would fix all of that and update the penalties, if we are hit by a car. They would stop it, because I, a blind man, and a group of blind friends worked on this bill, not the NFB. They can’t take credit for it, thus they would do everything in their power to kill it. They may have. I do not know. But, if the bill pops up next session with the NFB sponsoring it, we will know.
Mr. Blackman may have felt like this bill would not give him a big enough PR boost for his upcoming election in November. I don’t know. I think at some level, he does care. He offered a lot of great ideas, such as the education requirement, that I didn’t even think about in the beginning. At the end of the day, he let this bill die. When blind people are hit almost daily by negligent drivers, this is inexcusable. The bill was not allowed to get to the Arizona State House for a floor vote. The democratic process was not completed.
These state politicians do favors all the time. I used to work for a political think tank years ago. Mr. Blackman is the Chairman of the government committee, thus he sets the agenda for that committee. Mr. Hendrix might have a bill that he wants on the agenda. All Walt had to do was ask Mr. Hendrix to put HB2064 on the agenda and do each other a favor, but alas, he did not.
Now we have to wait another year. How many more vulnerable pedestrians have to get injured or killed before something is done? Every time a blind person steps off the curb, we are literally walking by faith alone. We hope that the drivers stop as they should, but there is no guarantee.
During December of last year, the wife and I moved to Oklahoma. The penalty for hitting a blind pedestrian here is $100, a joke. Thus, I have to start the process here soon. I hope that someone, a blind person, stays on the politicians in Arizona and gets this bill passed next year. Who knows, I could be in LD7, Payson and Show Low are, later this year, making sure every voter knows what happened.
I will include a copy of the bill below. What are your thoughts? -
Why We Moved from Arizona to Norman, Oklahoma: A Personal Journey
For over a year, my wife and I had been on an exhausting search for a used home we could actually afford in Arizona. With housing prices skyrocketing and my vision declining, our choices felt increasingly narrow. We could have stayed and poured every dollar into exorbitant rent, leaving us scraping by without enough for basics like food, or we could pack up and start fresh elsewhere. As much as we both adored Arizona’s landscapes, climate, and memories, it simply wasn’t sustainable. Tough as it was, we knew it was time to leave.
My wife’s family roots run deep in the Norman, Oklahoma area, and I’d fallen in love with the place during a week-long visit we took a while back. The friendly vibe, the open spaces, and the genuine warmth of the people stuck with me. So, we turned our sights eastward. In Arizona, even a modest one-bedroom felt out of reach on our average salaries, but crossing a couple of states into Oklahoma opened up possibilities we hadn’t dreamed of. After months of careful research, heartfelt discussions, and weighing every pro and con, we took the plunge and bought a charming three-bedroom home right here in the Norman area.
We’ve been in our new house for nearly a month now, still surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and bubbling with that new-home excitement and aching back. The sense of community here feels real and immediate, a far cry from the isolation we sometimes felt before.
Just the other day, for the first time since moving in, I ventured out for a longer adventure: a roughly four-mile walk exploring parts of the city. Downtown Norman is buzzing with activity these days, with quite a bit of construction reshaping the area, new developments, infrastructure upgrades, and revitalization projects that promise to breathe even more life into the heart of the city. Navigating those zones as a legally blind guy could have been tricky, but the construction crews were incredibly kind and patient, guiding me safely through the hazards with clear directions and helpful hands. I had an absolute blast chatting with folks along the way, strangers who stopped to talk, share stories, or just say hello. The whole experience left me feeling safe, connected, and invigorated.
That said, Norman isn’t without its challenges. Like many growing cities, there’s a visible issue with homelessness, and the city council has been deeply engaged in debates about solutions, including proposals for a permanent shelter funded through a bond vote. With budget deficits and ongoing discussions about priorities, it’s a complex topic that reflects the city’s commitment to addressing real needs while balancing resources. But beneath those growing pains, Norman brims with character, the kind that’s hard to find in bigger, more polished places. The people here are genuinely great: down-to-earth, helpful, and quick to lend a hand.
As a classic university town, home to the University of Oklahoma, Norman pulses with energy. You’ll encounter all walks of life, students, professors, families, artists, and athletes creating a vibrant mix that’s always refreshing. There’s constantly something happening: games at the stadium, events on campus, festivals, or just the lively hum of daily life. It’s big enough to feel like a proper city (without the overwhelming chaos of nearby Oklahoma City), yet it retains that welcoming, small-town heart, perfect for this country fella who’s always preferred wide-open spaces over endless sprawl.
The one thing I’m still hunting for is that perfect coffee spot with the right community feel. There are plenty of options within easy walking distance, Starbucks, Dutch Bros, Stella Nova, and more, but they’re not quite hitting the mark for me. Back in Payson, Arizona, I was a regular at Common Grounds, a true local hangout where folks gathered every morning to chat, catch up on news, and build real connections. They even kept my own dedicated coffee mug on a special hook, complete with Braille labeling so I could find it easily. It felt like home.
Here in Norman, I’m optimistic I’ll discover something close. I’m planning to explore them one by one until I find that spot where I can become a regular again.
All in all, we’re thrilled to be here in Norman, putting down roots and embracing this new chapter. Our home feels like a true blessing, spacious, affordable, and filled with potential.
As we get more settled, I look forward to sharing more stories and diving back into writing about my lifelong passion: photography and vintage film cameras. Being legally blind hasn’t dimmed that love one bit. With no useful vision in my left eye and just a narrow 5-degree tunnel in my right, the world is mostly shadows and shapes to me. But photography has been part of my life for decades. It’s about feeling the moment, composing through instinct and memory, and capturing beauty in ways that transcend sight. Old film cameras, with their tactile controls and timeless mechanics, are especially magical. I can’t wait to talk more about them soon!
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Life’s Blind Illumination
If you’ve stumbled upon this little corner of the internet, thank you for being here. I’m just a guy who’s spent most of his life chasing light through a lens, and lately, that light has started to fade in ways I never quite imagined. This post isn’t meant to be a pity party or a grand manifesto, I’m no expert on resilience, just someone muddling through with a heart full of gratitude and a camera bag that’s gotten a bit lighter over the months. But writing has always been a quiet companion to my photography, a way to make sense of the frames I capture (or, these days, the ones I remember). So, with a deep breath and a humble nod to God, here’s where my story sits right now.
It started with a simple video. Yesterday, I hit record on my phone for Instagram, a raw, rambling clip from the heart about the sting of going blind and what that means for the photographs I’ve loved making. I poured out the ache of knowing I can’t nail those perfect compositions or exposures anymore, the kind that come from years of squinting at a scene with my one good eye and just knowing. Film has its own personality, doesn’t it? Fomapan with its moody shadows and tight latitude, Kentmere offering a bit more forgiveness in the highlights. Details like that live in my head, etched from decades of trial and error. But my eyes? They’ve decided to bow out early. Five doctors, the state of Arizona, and the U.S. government all agree: I’m beyond legally blind, teetering on the edge of total darkness. I wake up each morning bracing for the day it all goes black.
About two months back, the warning signs ramped up. Closing my eyes brought flashes of random colors and lights, like a faulty projector spinning out of control. That sliver of vision I had left, five degrees on a good day, turned blurry, turning the world into soft-edged blobs. I laughed it off in an article I wrote, calling everyone a “blob” because, well, humor’s been my shield against the heavy stuff. But reality doesn’t stay polite for long.
One afternoon, I picked up one of my trusty SLR film cameras, the kind that’s felt like an extension of my hand for years. I tried to focus. Couldn’t. The viewfinder swam into nonsense. Composition? Forget it—that narrow tunnel of sight wasn’t enough to frame a thought.
I found myself on a park bench that day, head in hands, weeping for what felt like hours. Self-pity wrapped around me like fog, thick and unyielding. It was the first time I’d let the full weight of it crash down. I haven’t lifted a camera to shoot since, not one single frame. In the haze of those weeks, I started selling off pieces of my collection, each transaction a quiet goodbye to the tools that shaped my world. All that’s left now are my beloved folding cameras, with their tactile folds and whispers of history, and two SLRs I just can’t part with. They’re like old friends I can’t bear to lose, even if they sit gathering dust.
Looking back, I’ve been dancing with this shadow for longer than I care to admit. As a kid, doctors warned I’d lose my sight in adolescence. It didn’t happen, praise God for that grace, and maybe that’s why I’ve poured everything into photography. Forty years as a hobbyist, twenty as a professional. Every click was a prayer, a moment stolen from time.
Through breakups and breakthroughs, lean years and laughter, that passion kept me steady. It wasn’t about fame or perfection; it was joy, pure and simple. Losing it? It’s like misplacing a limb. For months, I’ve wandered aimlessly, future a foggy outline. But I’m not alone in the drift, Jesus has been my anchor, my wife my soft place to land, and our three goofy pups? They’re the daily reminder that wagging tails don’t need perfect vision.
Yesterday morning, something shifted. I woke with a spark, not a wildfire, just a gentle glow. Determination, I suppose you’d call it. I dug into a folder of unreleased shots from a May trip, landscapes that still make my heart hum even if I can’t see them sharply anymore. I posted a few, tentative steps back into sharing. I didn’t head out to shoot, but the thought lingered, whispering maybe. The truth is, I hold myself to impossible standards, flawless light, impeccable lines that I wouldn’t dream of expecting from anyone else. It’s a humble brag wrapped in humility: I’ve been blessed with skill, but pride can be a sneaky thief. How do I create without chasing ghosts of what was?
This road to blindness? I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. It’s lonely, riddled with “what ifs” that echo in the quiet hours. But here’s the quiet miracle: it led me to the blind center in Phoenix. Walking through those doors flipped the script. Suddenly, it wasn’t the end of my story but a pivot to a new chapter. I’ve met folks who get it, the raw grief, the stubborn spark. Some love photography as fiercely as I do, swapping tips on adaptive gear like it’s the most natural conversation. Together, we’ve sparked an advocacy group here in Arizona, a loose band of encouragers lifting each other up. No heroes among us, just people saying, “Hey, you’ve got this—one step at a time.”
Life’s gone tactile now, and there’s a strange beauty in that. Braille bumps under my fingers, keyboard clicks like Morse code for my thoughts. Cameras with dials and buttons? They’re gold, things I can map in my mind, muscle memory overriding the dark. Tomorrow, I’m pulling out my Minolta Maxxum, that autofocus wonder with its forgiving heart. I’ll give it a go, no pressure, just curiosity.
Scanning the negatives afterward will be a puzzle, details lost to me, but that’s the thrill, isn’t it? An adventure in trust, handing the reveal over to the machine and whatever magic it uncovers.
I love this part, if I’m honest, the relearning. Figuring out angles by sound and feel, composing by instinct honed over lifetimes. Lights? Who needs ’em? I navigate just fine in the pitch black, a skill that’s equal parts survival and secret superpower. It’s all a gift, wrapped in loss, reminding me that sight was never the whole picture.
If you’re reading this and facing your own storm—big or small—know this: it’s okay to sit on that bench for a while. But don’t stay there forever. Reach for the hand extended, whether it’s a friend’s, a stranger’s at a support group, or the steady one from above. I’m still figuring it out, one humble frame at a time. Life? It’s good. Messy, blurred at the edges, but profoundly good.
Thanks for letting me share. Drop a note if this resonates. I’m all ears (and heart). Until next time, keep chasing what lights you up, however dim the path.
With quiet thanks,
Jefferson Davis
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Diamondbacks OneCourt
Last Sunday, my wonderful wife, Deana, and I headed to Chase Field in Phoenix for an exciting Arizona Diamondbacks game against the Boston Red Sox. As a newly blind baseball fan, I’ve always loved the energy of live games, but navigating the sensory overload of a stadium can be daunting. Thankfully, Deana, being the incredible wife that she is, had planned ahead and reserved a One Court device for me to use during the game. This innovative technology, designed specifically for blind and visually impaired fans, has been a game changer.
The Arizona Diamondbacks hold the distinction of being the first MLB team to offer One Court devices, a remarkable step toward inclusivity. These devices are tailored to help blind and visually impaired fans follow the game through audio play-by-play announcements and tactile feedback. Chase Field keeps ten of these devices charged and ready for use, available upon request at no extra cost. Knowing this, Deana had called ahead to ensure one was reserved for me, making our trip to the ballpark even more special.
For those unfamiliar, the One Court device is a compact, lap gadget that delivers real-time game updates. It vibrates to indicate action on specific bases and provides audible commentary through earpieces, allowing users to track the game’s flow. It’s not perfect, but it’s a fantastic tool that bridges the gap for visually impaired fans, letting us feel closer to the action.
Walking into Chase Field is always a whirlwind. The buzz of the crowd, the echo of announcements, and the chatter of vendors create a chaotic symphony that can be disorienting for someone who is blind or visually impaired. I’ve been to the stadium before, but the energy still feels overwhelming at times. Fortunately, the staff at Chase Field are exceptional. From the moment we arrived, someone was there to guide us, ensuring we felt comfortable and supported.
Deana handled the paperwork to check out the One Court device. Once that was sorted, we made our way to our ADA-accessible seats. These seats are a blessing, offering plenty of space so I didn’t have to worry about accidentally bumping anyone with my cane. The stadium staff even stopped by to check in, making sure I understood how to use the device and answering any questions. Their attentiveness set the tone for a fantastic day.
As the game began, the One Court device sprang into action. It provided play-by-play updates, describing each pitch, hit, and fielding play with detail. The tactile feedback was particularly cool, different vibrations corresponded to action at specific bases, helping me visualize where the runners were. It felt like I was right in the middle of the game, calling plays like a sports broadcaster.
There was a slight hiccup, though. My hearing aids made it tricky to hear the audio clearly through the device’s earpieces. The stadium noise didn’t help either! I mentioned this to the staff, and they suggested trying a different set of earpieces next time, which I’ll definitely do. Despite the audio challenge, the device still allowed me to follow the game closely, and I was grateful for the experience it provided.
The Diamondbacks and Red Sox were locked in a tight battle, staying tied through the first six innings. I kept up with the plays through the One Court device, but I found myself turning to Deana to ask for the score. Little did I know, the device has an “Info” button that provides score updates on demand! I felt a bit silly when I learned this afterward, but it’s something I’ll remember for next time.
In the seventh inning, the Red Sox pulled ahead, scoring three runs in a classic late-inning surge they’re known for. Despite a pitching change, the D-Backs couldn’t recover, and Boston clinched the win. It was a tough loss, but the excitement of the game and the vibrant atmosphere at Chase Field made it an unforgettable day. Deana and I cheered, laughed, and soaked in the experience, loss and all.
The One Court device truly enhanced my experience at Chase Field. Being able to follow the game’s action through audio and tactile feedback made me feel more connected to the sport I love. Aside from the audio issue with my hearing aids, I wished the device automatically announced the score periodically. Adding a Braille display for score updates would be a dream, though I understand that could be costly. Still, the device is a huge step forward, and I’m excited to see how future versions might improve.
For any blind or visually impaired baseball fans, I wholeheartedly recommend giving the One Court device a try. It’s free to use, and the Diamondbacks’ staff make the process easy. The device doesn’t just let you follow the game; it empowers you to engage with it in a way that feels immersive and inclusive. I felt like I was part of the action, calling out plays and cheering alongside everyone else.
Our day at Chase Field was about more than just baseball, it was about shared moments, accessibility, and the joy of being part of the crowd. Deana’s thoughtfulness in reserving the One Court device and the stadium staff’s dedication to ensuring we had a great time made the experience truly special. We left the ballpark with big smiles, already looking forward to our next game.
If you’re a blind or visually impaired fan considering a trip to Chase Field, don’t hesitate to request a One Court device. It’s a fantastic tool that brings the game to life in ways I hadn’t imagined.
Have you tried the One Court?
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Blob City
I’ve spent many sleepless nights trying to find the right words to describe what it’s like to go completely blind. It’s not like flipping off a light switch! For most people who are blind, about 90% according to the stats, there’s still something to see. Maybe it’s just light perception, like knowing the sun’s out there doing its thing, or maybe it’s catching a glimpse of colors, like a fuzzy rainbow. But for a few folks I know who’ve been completely blind since birth, sight is just one piece of the sensory puzzle, and they prove you can live a full, vibrant life without it. Me? I’m somewhere near the end, navigating a world of blobs, and let me tell you, it’s a wild ride.
Let’s get one thing straight: life without sight isn’t easy, but it’s absolutely worth living to the fullest. I mean, who needs 20/20 vision when you’ve got stubbornness, a good sense of humor, and a knack for dodging furniture? (I still bump into things, but I’m working on my ninja skills.) The world of blindness is filled with challenges, but it’s also brimming with possibilities. I love chatting with people about the tech that’s out there, like screen readers, smart canes, apps that describe the world like a chatty tour guide. But the real MVP in my life is Braille.
Braille is like the secret handshake of the blind community. It’s tactile, it’s elegant, and it keeps my brain as sharp as a tack. Fun fact: reading braille lights up the same part of your brain as reading with your eyes. So, while I’m running my fingers over those delightful dots, I’m basically doing mental push-ups. Without braille, I’m not sure I’d be as happy as I am today. It’s my bridge to a world of books, notes, and magazines.
I’ve been blind in one eye since I was a day old, thanks to a condition called Septo-Optic Dysplasia, which led to Optic Atrophy. Sounds like a villain from a sci-fi flick, right? Basically, it means my optic nerve cells are slowly checking out, like guests leaving a party early. Back in the 1970s, though, I didn’t let that stop me. I was just another kid, tearing around on bikes and motorcycles, channeling my inner Evel Knievel. Sure, I had more crashes than the average daredevil—my nickname was and still is “Crash”—but I didn’t care. My parents were my biggest cheerleaders, telling me I could do anything. I still believe them.
In January 2024, my doctor dropped a bombshell: “Stop driving.” The next month, another gut-punch: I had about two years of sight left. We hoped it’d stretch longer, but my vision had other plans. Right now, I’m down to five degrees of peripheral vision, and it’s blurry, like looking through a foggy window. Everyone and everything is a blob. My wife, Deana has been my rock through this whole journey, encouraging me to keep going, even when I’m tempted to throw a pity party for one.
Here’s what it’s like to live in Blob City. I can still pick up colors, so I might notice a red hat or a green shirt, but details? Forget it. Reading text is like trying to solve a puzzle in a windstorm. I have to stare at it forever, and it better be in font size “Billboard.” Walking, though, is my jam. It clears my head and usually puts me in a better mood. This morning, I strolled down to Green Valley Park, looped around the lake, and decided to grab Deana a drink from the gas station on the way back. Easy, right? Wrong.
I sauntered up to the cooler, ready to be the hero of hydration, only to remember I couldn’t read the labels. Picture me, squinting like a detective at a crime scene, trying to guess which bottle was Deana’s favorite. I grabbed one that looked vaguely familiar and hoped for the best. Then, a kind stranger piped up: “Need any help?” I could’ve hugged him. He confirmed I’d picked the right drink, then asked, “How’d you figure that out?” I explained my blob-vision situation, and he was surprised. Like most folks, he saw my white cane and dark glasses and assumed I was living in total darkness. Nope, just blob central.
That white cane and dark glasses? It’s like the unofficial “blind uniform.” People see it and assume I can’t see a thing, which is honestly a safe bet. I don’t mind the assumptions, better safe than sorry, right? Most people are just trying to help, and I’m grateful for it. I always say “thank you,” even if I don’t need the assistance. The other day, someone offered to guide me across the street, and I thought, Buddy, I’ve been crossing streets since disco was king. But I smiled, said thanks, and let them feel like a superhero. It’s a win-win.
The truth is, every blind person’s experience is different. Some of us see blobs, some see light, some see nothing at all. What we all share is the ability to adapt, to find joy in the little things, and to keep moving forward. For me, that means laughing at my own misadventures, like the multiple times I called a Mister a Misses or vice versa. That can get dicey really quick.
Losing my sight hasn’t been easy, but it’s taught me to lean into life’s unpredictability. I’m still the kid who rode motorcycles and dreamed big, just with a few more battle scars and a better sense of humor. With Deana by my side, braille to keep me sharp, and the occasional kind stranger to point me toward the right soda, I’m living a life that’s full, messy, and mine. So here’s to the blobs. May they always be colorful, and may I never stop finding the humor in this wild, blurry world.
