"Running Commentary"

Seeing Is Believing

    Ed. Note:  Michael is taking a break this week. The following column of his was originally published in the Salina Journal in 2019. We hope you enjoy it …

    His name was James.
We met in a most unconventional way – one of us sitting in a convertible with the top down, waiting for a traffic light to change … the other, crossing the intersection, feeling his way with a white cane.
I marveled how he walked with such confidence, as if he were blessed with two working eyes. I guessed that this was part of a route he traversed regularly, something of a scary thought given the heavy traffic on a major highway.
    I shouted a spontaneous and cheery, “Hello!!”
    Loud enough for him to hear had he also been deaf.
James smiled and paused in front of my car in the middle of the crosswalk. “Hello yourself,” he responded. “Are you in a convertible?” he asked.
Huh? How did he know that? Were his powers of perception so great he could tell I had the top down? “Wait for me on the sidewalk,” I barked.
Immediately, I shifted my car into reverse and backed up to a parking space near the intersection. I wanted to meet the man who could discern so much with so little. James heard me backing up and walking back to the corner of the street. He held out his hand to shake.
We hadn’t even met, but it seemed as if we were already friends. A hearty hello and a warm handshake can do that! That’s all it takes.
James told me he was something of a car fanatic.
He asked if he could see my convertible.
    Yep, that’s exactly what James said – he wanted to see my car. He put his hand on my shoulder, and we walked back to where my car was parked.
    It’s common knowledge that when one sense is lost, other senses increase exponentially, as if to compensate for the one lost. I was about to learn firsthand the dynamics of how that worked. And I tell you truthfully – what James could see without eyesight was beyond amazing.
    He wanted to know every little detail. “What make is the car?”
“Miata, Mx-5. 2012 – the third generation.”
“Automatic or four speed?,” James asked.
“Six speed. Manual transmission. With a car like this, it would be crime to have an automatic.”
“How fast can it go?”
“Well, a couple of times on a deserted highway, I had it up to almost 130 mph, and there was still room on the floor of the gas pedal. I would guess 140-150. But to be honest, the car is so light, at those speeds you have to worry about hitting a bump in the road and going airborne.”
“What color is the car?”
“Metallic silver … like a jet airliner, without the wings.”
With every small detail I provided, James proceeded to see my car with his fingers. He was able to feel every little indentation, such as the flare on the hood. On the door handle, James even sensed a small inset. “What’s that?” he asked. “Chrome.”
Slowly and methodically, James worked his way around the car, asking questions as he went. He was falling in love with my convertible. I felt like asking if he wanted to take it for a spin.
James was intrigued with the retractable, automatic hardtop. With one push of a button, the car converts back to a hardtop. A marvel of engineering, the hardtop is designed to collapse into three sections and tuck itself out of sight behind the driver’s seat.
I pushed a button to close the hardtop but paused the mechanics halfway so James could feel the different sections of the hardtop and “see” how the sections meshed and folded together perfectly.
    Standing on the side of the street, we talked about cars and shared personal tidbits for at least 20 minutes. Then, having bid farewell, my thoughts shifted to a time when my own powers of perception were enhanced.
    My ability to “see” diminished the day I could see.
In 1952, my parents decided we could afford a new high-tech appliance – something called a television. The set was huge, the screen quite small, and reception was spotty at best with snowy interference. The rabbit-ears antenna was about as effective as plugging a real, furry big-eared rabbit into an outlet and moving its tail around in different directions.
Life would never be the same.
Before we had a TV, I sprawled out on the living room floor listening to radio programs such as The Lone Ranger and Sgt. Preston of the Yukon. Radio forced the listener to imagine images we couldn’t see. I didn't need to actually see the Lone Ranger. My imagination took flight, without the benefit of an actual image. The Lone Ranger seemed larger than life.
Television forever changed and diminished our powers of perception, from imagined to literal. Once we began seeing our heroes on tiny TV screens, their stature shrank considerably. As did my own powers of imagination.
Meanwhile, I remember complaining once – there are so many places in the world I have yet to visit, distant vistas and landscapes I want to see.
Then, I met someone who had no eyes.
James could see with his fingers …
Things I couldn’t imagine.

Epilogue:  “The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.” – Helen Keller