Blind

Fair enough. Weird, but there you are.

Early evening of Thanksgiving Day last year, I idled up the driveway of a large house near the beach. The Boss insists that we are at least ten minutes early for pickups. And so I was.

Unusually, there was a knot of people waiting.

Good evening, I said to the middle-aged man. I am Wombat from The Boss’s Limousine service.

Hello Wombat, I am Stuart Little, thank you for being so prompt.

You’re welcome sir.

You know you’re taking my mother back to St Petersburg?

Yessir, I have the address.

Good, I’ll just go get her. Oh, by the way she’s blind.

She was indeed a blind woman, white cane and all, but certainly didn’t need the help of all fifteen members of the family to negotiate the stairs down to my car.

As I opened the rear door, she asked where she needed to sit, and I said to her:

I have opened the right rear door, ma’am, that will give you the most comfortable ride with the most legroom.

I want to sit in the front with you. I like knowing where I’m going.

Very good ma’am, just let me adjust the seat.

And with that she plonked herself up with me.

As I was about to leave, the son leant in close and whispered,

If you get lost, she’ll tell you the way.

Which is exactly what she did. I described every intersection to her as we approached and she gave precise guidance to the front door of her nursing home.

If only the sighted people could give equally coherent directions.

The drawing of life metaphors I’ll leave to you.

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