I lost my sight when I was four years old by falling off a box car in a freight yard in Atlantic City and landing on my head. Now I am thirty-two. I can vaguely remember the brightness of sunshine and what red color is. It would be wonderful to see again, but a calamity can do strange things to people.
It occurred to me the other day that I might not have come to love life as I do if I hadn’t been blind. I believe in life now. I am not so sure that I would have believed in it so deeply, otherwise. I don’t mean that I would prefer to go without my eyes. I simply mean that the loss of them made me appreciate the more what I had left.
Life, I believe, asks a continuous series of adjustments to reality. The more readily a person is able to make these adjustments, the more meaningful his own private world becomes. The adjustment is never easy. I was bewildered and afraid. But I was lucky. My parents and my teachers saw something in me—a potential to live, you might call it —which I didn’t see, and they made me want to fight it out with blindness.
The hardest lesson I had to learn was to believe in myself. That was basic. If I hadn’t been able to do that, I would have collapsed and become a chair rocker on the front porch for the rest of my life. When I say belief in myself I am not talking about simply the kind of self-confidence that helps me down an unfamiliar staircase alone. That is part of it. But I mean something bigger than that: an assurance that I am, despite imperfections, a real, positive person that somewhere in the sweeping, intricate pattern of people there is a special place where I can make myself fit.
It took me years to discover and strengthen this assurance. It had to start with the most elementary things. Once a man gave me an indoor baseball, I thought he was mocking me and I was hurt. “I can’t use this,” I said. “Take it with you,” he urged me, “and roll it around.” The words stuck in my head. Then at Philadelphia’s Overbrook School for the Blind I invented a successful variation of baseball. We called it “Ground Ball”.
All my life I have set ahead of is a series of goals and then tried to reach them, one at a time. I had to learn my limitations. It was no good to try for something I knew at the start was wildly out of reach because that only invited the bitterness of failure. I would fail sometimes anyway but on the average I made progress. That is the power of believing in myself.
4岁那年在大西洋城,我从货场一辆两厢车上摔下来,头先着地,造成了双目失明。现在我已经32岁了。我还能依稀地记得阳光是多么灿烂,红色是多么鲜艳。如果能恢复视觉固然非常好,但灾难有时也能对人产生奇妙的作用。
有一天我突然想到,倘若不是盲人,我或许不会像现在这样如此地热爱生活。现在的我相信生活,但我不能肯定如果我没有失明,会不会像现在这样对生活坚信不移。我并不是說我愿意成为盲人,我只是想说失去视力使我更加珍惜自己的所有。
我认为,生活要求人不断地调整自我以适应现实。人的调整能力越强,他的个人世界便会变得越有意义。调整决非易事。我曾感到茫然害怕,但我很幸运,我的父母和老师在我身上发现了某种东西——可以称之为生存的潜力吧——而我自己却并不知道。是他们激励我与失明拼搏到底。
我必须学会的最艰难的一课就是相信自己,这是最基本的。如果做不到这一点,我的人就会垮掉,然后坐在前门廊的摇椅中度过余生。我所说的相信自己并不单纯地指相信自己能独自走下陌生的楼梯,那只是一方面。我指的是更重要的东西:是坚信自己虽然有缺陷,却是一个真正的有进取心的人;坚信在芸芸众生错综复杂的格局当中,自有我可以安身立命的一席之地。
我花了很长时间才坚定了这一信念。这要从最简单的事做起。有一次一个人给我一个室内玩的棒球,我以为他在嘲笑我,心里很难受。“我玩不了这个。”我说。“拿着吧,你可以让它在地面滚动的。”他竭力劝我。他的话触动了我。随后,在费城的奥弗布鲁克盲人学校,我发明了一种很受欢迎的棒球游戏,我们称其为“地面球”。
我的一生中给自己树立了一系列目标,然后努力去完成,一次完成一个。我必须清楚自己的局限,若开始就知道某个目标根本达不到却硬要去实现,那不会带来任何好处,只会带来失败的苦果。我有时也会失败,但一般来说总会取得进步。这就是相信自己带来的力量。