Jan 23 2008
Enrolment Part.1
Of course, I couldn’t find that one piece of paper I needed, my old transcripts so I could apply for advanced credit and skip the 2/3rds of the degree I had already done. So I was late.
There was much swearing and agitation until I bit the bullet and called to see if me getting there 2 hours after the allotted time would be a problem. Apparently, it wasn’t. Yay for me. Apparently, it also wasn’t a problem that I didn’t have my transcripts: The enrolment officers could access them on their computers. Yay for me.
The weather, of course, was Melbourne. Biting cold wind with promises of an almost scorching day, so Cas and I left all rugged up, with just enough room in the bottom of the pram to shove all the clothes we would inevitably have to remove.
Prams on trams are not the greatest thing. They’re even worse, when you catch them in the city and they are mostly full. They are even worse when you’re half blind and don’t really have any idea where you are supposed to get off. But the university was large enough for me to see in time. All was well.
Until I got off and realised that to get out of the tram stop in the middle of the road and across to the Uni, I had to go via an underpass, the only access to which was a very steep set of stairs. I guess trams are not designed for prams. Or disabled people.
Anyway, after the gargantuan effort of navigating the stairwell with my heavy load of winter coats and a bored baby, I was actually standing there at the entrance of the university. I was almost a student again! But the campus was large.
And I couldn’t see.
I learned a few things on Tuesday I think. Having that “disability” was disorienting and confusing. It made being somewhere unfamiliar very uncomfortable. I eventually managed to find my way around, and I did ask for help when I needed it, but I noticed when I did how much I “faked” being able to follow where specifically people were pointing. I used to do Adult Literacy tutoring. My students got through their whole lives to that point “faking it”.
It’s not a nice feeling and I wonder what deep recesses of my psyche prevented me from just saying, “I’ve lost my glasses and can’t see very clearly.” Because nodding as though I understood them fully was very much a lie. And I’m not a liar. And I hate the idea of being a liar.
There is no shame in having a minor visual impairment but the only thing I can think of that could motivate that dishonest behaviour is shame. The shame of not being able to manage everything for yourself. But that didn’t seem to fit. I think it was almost an evolutionary, defensive instinct; covering up a weakness.
But it made me uncomfortable when talking to people, and by the time I actually got to processing my enrolment, my eyes were so strained that making eye contact was difficult and I was unable to pick up on the non-verbal cues I am normally sensitive to. I felt disconnected. I felt frustrated. And I even felt angry.
I’ll tell you more about my enrolment tomorrow - and there were tears! - but right now, I’m just thinking back to my students, and wondering how isolated they felt for so many years. And I’m wondering at the bravery it took for them to sign up for classes to learn to read. And I’m wondering how much that early, instinctive pretending got in the way of them receiving the support they deserved as children and young adults. Not just in reading, but in life.
My experience can not in any way compare to anyone’s with a real disability, but I think on enrolment day I had an insight into how it can restrict so much more than just the obvious, mechanical things.
He makes me smile when I ask him, What does a fish say?, and he pop-pops with his mouth, almost making the sound.
