Eagle Eye

Everyone probably could identify their best friend when growing up. Mine was legally blind. We met in the church nursery. I don't remember the meeting, but I am sure at some point he was in the crib next to me. I probably commented to him on his rotten luck. His mother had become ill when pregnant with him, and a high fever was credited as the cause of his blindness.

Our parents met picking up their kids from the church nursery. A hallway conversation between them led to a family friendship that endures. We spent many an evening over dinner and conversation. Instead of ghost stories, we would tell tornado stories. I remember falling asleep at their house and being awakened to go home.

My blind friend's name was John. John went to the Kansas School for the Blind. He was not completely blind. His vision was very poor, described as looking through a pinhole in a sheet of paper. The doctors believed that he would eventually go completely blind, so he was sent to the Blind School to learn Braille. John's father would pick me up at my public school and take me to John's wrestling matches at the Blind School. John would always win. It was not that he was a gifted wrestler. His partial sight was a significant advantage over his completely blind foes. I always thought he had an unfair advantage, but as a friend I would cheer him on to the tainted victory.

John loved baseball as did I. We would recreate game situations in the backyard. Sometimes I would bat, but other times he would. I had to throw accurate pitches because his field of vision was so small. Missing my target by a foot or two would mean that John could not find the ball. Missing by more than that meant that he would end up with seam marks on his forehead. It happened often. Yet, he continued to play.

Over our childhood, John heard all the names used on blink kids. He wore the pop bottle glasses that invited the name calling. He was probably called 4-eyes more times that you could count. I did not call him that. I called him Eagle Eye. Since we were best friends, he never seemed to mind too much.

John and I were in cub scouts and boy scouts together. During one family dinner, John smuggled a bottle of baby aspirin from his parent's medicine cabinet. We ate several apiece, enjoying their orange fruity flavor. We were discovered, prompting a late night call to the doctor's to see if our stomach should be pumped. We were spared that since the doctor claimed that if we had consumed too many, we would be dead before they got the tube down our throats.

Since we lived a couple blocks apart, we saw a lot of each other. We slept out in his parents camper, an old refrigerator box, or under the stars. When possible, those camp outs were enhanced with pilfered cigarettes or a bottle of Strawberry Hill wine. Sometimes we would just be mischievous by setting off cherry bombs in the nearby apartments, or using a slingshot and rocks to nail passing cars. When I moved on from my paper route, I gave it to him. My first paying job was at Red Lobster. As soon as John turned 16, I got him a job there too. When I went 120 mph in my 1969 GTO, John was in the back seat. After calling me from his handheld CB radio to pick him up from work, we were pulled over by most of the Shawnee Police Force who thought we were burglarizing a business. John did not let his disability keep him from doing what sighted friends would do. He owned a mini-bike that he would drive in his back yard, and later a larger dirt bike that he would drive on the back roads near his mother's rural home. When working for Red Lobster, he would park customer's cars. They never knew he was blind, and even offered him tips.

John was a groomsman at my wedding (above). Just before I was married, John took a different path. He moved to Willow Springs, Missouri to live with his mother and go to college. He also committed his life to God and the ministry. I had a small part in that. After a wild evening drinking at my apartment, John woke up the next morning with dried Frito's on his chest. He did not remember the night before, eating Frito's or barfing them back up, so he decided to clean up his act.

Our meetings since that decision have been rare. John flew to KC for my wedding, Terri and I travelled to Covington, Louisiana once for a visit, and John occasionally makes contact when in KC to visit his father who died earlier this year. Future visits could even be rarer.

John has always been a surprising person. He endeavoured not to use his disability as an excuse, or a hindrance in life. He did most everything a sighted person does. He married up, and fathered a son. Both surprised me :-). He has a career as a mental health counselor for the state of Louisiana. Our childhood friendship will always be a pleasant memory.