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First Light
Back when we kids were small there was a little kid two houses down that was
blind. Smart little guy too. He could read Braille, at a sixth grade level,
and he was only six or seven. The way he ran, played and spoke to you, it
would be difficult to tell he was blind from a distance. His eyes looked
normal except for the slight cloud or film that seemed to be in their
depths.
In the early fifties there was some kind of new eye surgery that had become
available or experimental; I can't remember now. Anyway the parents looked
into it, and discovered the doctors thought it might give him a chance at
some level of eyesight. They knew not what it would be, but they were pretty
sure it would be better than complete blindness, which he suffered at the
time.
Investigating further they discovered the cost; a staggering sum would be an
understatement. Insurance at the time wouldn't cover it. The people at
church, the whole neighborhood, well, the whole community found out about it
after a while and started little things to raise money. Gloria, the little
crippled girl who owned Shep The Wonder Dog who pulled her around in a
carriage her dad had made, started a lemonade stand in front of her house to
help. Several of us started a neighborhood vegetable stand selling things
from our gardens. They even had rummage sales and lawns were being mowed
that didn't need it. Special collections were being taken up in church for
the fund and all of it was going into the fund for his operation. Our
efforts made the paper.
The family was contacted and it seems that a hospital out of town and some
doctors agreed to do it for what was in the fund at the end of that summer.
They were gone a few days to get it done, and when they returned his whole
head was bandaged—he had to be kept inside and quiet for thirty days.
It was a cool, crisp fall evening when it was time to unwrap the bandages.
The room had to be darkened. We neighbors were all gathered on their patio
for a barbeque, and had brought all kinds of things to go with it while
waiting for the event. Their house was dark and it had gotten so clear with
no moon it was eerie. The stars seemed to be flashing like a circus. I went
inside to see how things were going just as they opened the Venetian blinds
a little for him to have his first glimpse of the world. Across the street a
neighbors lights were on. He asked what it was and was told the neighbors
were home because their lights were on. He had never experienced seeing
lights before.
His parents gently led him out onto the patio where we were all gathered
watching in anticipation of his first visions. He looked around at all of us
who he recognized by our voices, but had never seen. Then he looked up into
the sky and exclaimed, "Look Daddy, God's home, his lights are on." There
was not a dry eye among us.
Mark Crider
?2006 |
