Tap, tap. Lucia has asked me four times now about whether I can find the time to write something up for The Federationist. Tap, tap. A Federationist - then again depending on the Federationist- might advise me to "make it a priority". Well for one thing, inspiration doesn't fly on the wings of priority, but time certainly flies. I suppose that's as good a start as any. Ah, and here's the N1, right on time.

"Good morning driver."

"Good morning."

"Transfer please. Thank you."

"There's a seat behind me, on either side."

Yeah, yeah, yeah, the area that your bosses or their bosses designated for a certain segment of the bus traveling population is currently available. I'll tell you though, it's become a comforting place. Cane fits right here, and I can rest my head on my arm on this bar, and get me at least ten winks. 1 wink, 2 wink, 3- Alright then. What's the agenda for this week? 1. Write something for The Federationist. Uh…no. Considering my average To-Do List, that rates around number…12.

"Where did you want to get off?"

"Don't worry. I'll know when you get there."

But no thanks for asking. You drove this bus yesterday. Now what was I thinking about…or was I trying to sleep? Vincent was so funny this morning, bouncing in his crib and laughing up a storm. One of these days, he's going to figure out how to vault out of there. Potty training. Crap! Did I send out the last mortgage payment? Uh…yep. Man, I can't believe how much we're paying in diapers, between the two of them. Leela. She is too precious. Changing her is actually really easy. There you go! Priority # 1: Potty train the boy, I mean move Vin's entire library into the bathroom kind of training, make camp until we got a number two in the loo. Why do they call it a loo anyway? No. Stop. Needless thought. Move on. Okay. Work To-Do List.

"Windsor Avenue."

Passing by BESB. Work priority 1: Get annual reports in order and submitted. That's moving along alright. Staff jokes about how they see me way more now than they ever did when I worked there. What can I say? Business is business. It's generally a nice place to visit because I sure as hell don't live there. Sure there are more than a few folks who are sane, genuinely competent and motivated from the heart. As far as the rest? I think it's on some people's agendas to live in misery, wallow in self loathing, struggle with shame, indulge in the exertion of control unnecessarily, submit to varying levels of psychological abuse, and hide themselves where they can make a decent buck doing next to nothing. It's all actually quite normal. Give a bunch of people a situation, and sooner or later, their colors -bright or dim- will show.

Speaking of agendas, I'm really happy that the annual report forms are finally adequately accessible. Just a few additional notes on the side in Braille, and I'm good to go. When it was intimated that it would behoove me to get a reader/scribe in the event of forms that required hand writing, I'm glad I held my guns, and insisted to the contrary. Yep, agendas. Everybody does have one, don't they? "Don't you miss reading print?" Bite me. I'll tell you: what really sucks about working with some sighted professionals in the field of blindness is that they get a little clingy, a little needy. Shiva forbid you're a 38 year-old blind adult, and you reserve your right to politely refuse assistance or limit yourself to asking for it only when you absolutely need it. Excuse me for striving for as much independence as is possible and indulging in the dignity of risk. I'm sorry. Is that my agenda? I think so. Do I have a right to choose one? Why not? Everyone else has. Oh, but you're the president of the NFB of CT! Yeah. You want my autograph? Let me get my slate and stylus.

"Putnam Highway."

Already? This bus is cruising. Agendas, hostile work environments, the differences and similarities between service and advocacy, what comes first: the successfully rehabilitated blind person or the job? You see, it would take too much time and staff to get you prepared for working in Children's Services. Oh what a nice thing to say. Seemed more than a little nervous. I liked that. Keep talking. "Well and…" Oh and what can be spoken can be denied. How about that other doofus, the one that we gave a scholarship to? Which one? The funny looking one. The one who thinks he can see. Wait. Are you being literal or figurative? The one who was given 20/20 foresight. Believe me. It's not who you think you are. It's who they want you to be. You mean you? No. Not me. I'm the BMF in the hood. "It's good to know your limitations, Alfonse." Oh I know my limitations all right. The sky, baby!!! I can only get better from here. Seriously though; those forms are really nice…honey. No really! I'm grateful.

"Central Row."

"Thanks driver."

Alright then. Tap, tap. Check watch. I've got time for a coffee before I catch my U bus. Yeah baby!!! Tap, tap. Okay so…# 1. Annual reports. #2. 403's for kids stuff. Tap, tap. #3. Travel log for supervisor (I like her. She seems very genuine.). #4. Generate O and M service amendments for the kids. Tap, tap. #5. Generate five different finals. #6. Do functional vision assessments on those with. Tap, tap. #7. Get that PC and embosser to accept each other warmly. #8. Pack up that algebra book and send it back. Tap, tap. #9. Complete and submit the adult support Braille training forms. #10. Don't forget the story box request. Tap, tap #11.-

"Excuse me? You're going the wrong way."

Lady thinks I think I'm heading for the corner to cross.

"Wait. You mean to tell me that the Dunkin' Donuts that I'm going to is actually behind me?"

"Oh…no. Sorry."

Okay. #11. Find the Romeo manual. #12. Submit request for students' door-to-door for next year's Friday VI Program plan. I hate that term visually impaired, like a part of you is broken and the whole rest of you might as well be as incomplete as the vision you see with. Tap, tap. Oh, that is some nice perfume, a little lilac, a little honey. More women should be wearing that. Tap, tap. To hell with that stuff that smells like soap. If you want to smell like soap, then wash. Tap, tap. Resonating tap, tap. The D & D should be right…here. In. Here we go. Anybody in line? Nope.

"Can I help you sir?"

"Yes. Can I have a large iced hazel nut, black, with five sugars?"

"That will be $2.26."

"Thank you sir. Can I get you a straw?"

"Sure. Why not. Thanks."

"Can I help you back to the door?"

"No thank you. It feels better by myself."

Dork. Why did you just say that? I don't know. I can't be responsible for absolutely everything that comes out of my mouth. But you're the president of the NFB of CT. Yeah, yeah, yeah, leave a message and I'll call you back. Mmm, good coffee.

Tap, tap. Man, where would I be without this cane? You'd be with a dog? No way. All ready too many poops to scoop. Man, why can't Vincent just bridge that…give up the poopy gap? Tap, tap. CVS on my left.

"Nice stick."

"Damn right. Get a pair of sleep shades, and you can have a try."

Who the hell was that? Some nobody. You don't have the guts stranger. Tap, tap. Here we go; Main Street. It's a pretty warm day. Where's the old black guy who plays guitar on this corner? Sleeping in? Lucky bastard. I wish I was an old black guy who jams out Motown tunes with an amplified electric guitar on nice sunny mornings. Main Street traffic moving, moving…moving. Stopped. Time to cross.

"You can cross now."

I'm just going to ignore her. That's funny. These cross walk strips weren't this vivid yesterday. Oh yeah, state government has that surplus money to throw around these days. I hope to God they never put one of those audio signals here. That would be so friggin' embarrassing. Stupid agendas. But you're the president…ooh someone's frying bacon. I'm crossing Main. Where the heck can someone be frying bacon? Man, that's better than that chick's perfume. Tap, tap. Mmm, another sip of coffee. Bam. Once again, perfect cross. O & M is fun. It's really not as hard as it looks. Tap, tap. Crap! Did I submit those forms for the kids to go canoeing? Tap, tap. Oh yeah, like a month ago. Gold building, passed. Open area on right. Tap, tap, tap, tap. God I hate the smell of cigarettes, but man I could use one. Tap, tap. And here's my U bus . Is the cool Jamaican guy driving today?

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Mr. Elliot."

Yes. I'm Mr. Elliot because that's my stop, even though he drops me off one block north of Elliot. This guy's too mellow. He's awesome.

"What's da gude wad mon?"

"My little girl turned 11 weeks today."

"She getting' big?"

"Little by little, every day."

Small talk finished? Good. Keep it short. That's how I like it. What was I thinking about? I forgot. Oh, that memory is creeping back. After Leela's Baptism at Debra's church, Methodist, there was the rest of the service. When it came time for the Reverend to speak his major piece of the show, he happened to choose blindness (for the umpteenth sermon), initially framing it as persopignosia (when one is face blind, an apparently increasingly popular type of neurological disorder or inconvenience, depending on how aggressive or assertive you want to be about it). Anyway, the good Reverend used the concept of blindness as his usual metaphorical state of those of the world's other god fearing or fearing no god at all people, those who were not seeing the same light that happened to be shining during that service on that lovely day. Leela, the shining light that I was most keenly aware of that day, had her very name incorporated into the good Reverend's sermon, although he never did come right out and explain that Leela -in Hindi- means God's divine game, life. Yet because I know his agenda was not to clarify Leela's name in it's eastern philosophical context, the good Reverend's agenda was to remind all of us blind people, and Methodist light seers in the house, that in spite of other people's faithfulness and good, humanitarian work, they are still blind to Christian truth. He made me understand more clearly that many of us have agendas and each of those agendas are validated by those that follow a given agenda that has its foundations in similar experiences, values, and motivations. "I mean, thank God that the student's visual impairment isn't degenerative." Oh, is that the belief/perspective/agenda of one of those teachers of the visually impaired? Why? Because it will hurt him really bad or it'll be like a death sentence? "And believe you me. I recommended that any unnecessary obstructions be taken away, and that tactile, high contrasting materials be put along the kitchen cabinets. But did his parents do it? No. I made those recommendations three years ago. I swear, it's like they think actually making such accommodations for their child makes them seem more blind." Whoa, deja vu. Where have I heard that before? The thing about parents is that they have the power to facilitate the development of a properly rehabilitated young blind adult, but instead invest that power into reinforcing/perpetuating their own guilt, resentment or negative perceptions of blindness so that the child stagnates or regresses, and lives the rest of his or her life believing "but I can't" or "I don't deserve the full, rich life everyone else gets to enjoy." That's just sad, to miss finding out one day that your blind son or daughter became a great lawyer or great engineer or great anything because you chose not to encourage them because your child's low vision or blindness was too menacing or ugly to add into your positive perception of the child you loved into creation. That's f@#$% up, as they say.

So every other person who represents the antithesis of the given agenda is perceived as ignorant to the truth of the given agenda or plainly blind. So we are all built to see what we want to see, and to be told what we want to hear. We all want to fit in where we fit, and square pegs are not supposed to fit in round holes. So here I am, a father, a husband, a teacher of blind students, an employee of Hartford Public schools, a homeowner, and the president of the National Federation of the Blind of Connecticut. And sometimes what I think I am, during the scant moments I can set aside for myself, is a writer. It's just that I haven't written enough to prove it. I can think of myself more as a square peg that sort of shoves it's way into round holes until I can crack and bend the opening, which is one of the reasons I've earned myself a new LL Bean book bag with the initials BMF on it. The acronym; I'll give you two guesses. There are positive perceptions, negative perceptions and self-perceptions. Blindness is a mere inconvenience. I agree. If an identifiably conservative advocacy interest group of blind people can become more moderate on a given perspective, then they ought to publicly change their tune. Whatever. Hey, I think this is my stop. Man, damned if you're lobotomized, damned if you're moderate.

"Mista' Elliot."

My stop.

"Have a good day Mr. Driver."

Orient to the corner. Tap, tap, tap, tap. Ready at the crossing. I love this intersection/crossing because I find it to be one of the safest, yet due to its traffic pattern, the actual crossing looks completely dangerous. Now go. Crossing…thinking. What was I thinking? Bacon? No. Oh yeah'. We are working for us, for the blind that are perceived as unmarketable and incapable, the unwritten unspoken caps in hand, who show up here and there, and do the best they can to navigate around and through the personalities of genuine humanitarian square pegs and ignorant materialistic round pegs that treat us far less thoughtfully than the humanitarians because they don't get the meanings of demeaning or degrading because they don't see your humanity or at least they don't see mine. Is it paranoia or some level of egomania, thinking that God is speaking to you, offering inspiration through the thoughts and speech of other people? Don't let them read that! They'll think you're crazy. Shut up. I'll tell him what to write.

It depends on what you believe, I guess. So what do I believe? I believe I am a father first, tap, tap, a husband second, tap, tap, a teacher of blind students, tap, tap, an employee of Hartford Public Schools, tap, tap, a homeowner, tap, tap, a seeker of my muse, tap, tap, and I believe there's an affiliate president in there somewhere. Which are the truest of my identities? Well…the kids are definitely mine. I really hope they stay cute. I know I signed something when I married Deb. What did that guy on the U say the other day? "I tied the knot with my wife, and she eventually hanged me with it." I guess he's got his philosophy. I go to work most every day, and like it. Good Faith Effort baby! I'm on the HPS payroll. God, what we could save in diapers! Affiliate president? I believe a few folks voted me in, and I imagine they can vote me right out again.

Down the side of Bulkeley High, and around the back, tap, tap. What did that kid say at that BESB thing when I was still working there; "I was told that the two touch technique was out of style or made you look more blind." What a knucklehead. It would seem to me that constant contact serves the traveler as the means to surveying a layout in order for the traveler's understanding a route, until one felt "confident" enough to use two touch. Makes sense to me. Tap, tap. You know, members of the Federation have been asked why they are grateful for our organization. Now that I have time to think about it, I am grateful for having been turned on to the types of canes we use. And although there is more to me than meets my cane, it is the more that brings me all together. Rear entrance, security desk, down the hall, pass the elevator, no thank you, I prefer the stairs. Tap, tap, tap, tap. How can we become a stronger affiliate? I need more time to invest in it. Gee, where do I get that? I have to make it. That's what teachers do, so they say. They have to make time, make it by saving it from being taken up through other responsibilities or pursuits. Wait. So where am I in all of that? Don't ask. Tap, tap, tap, tap. Here we are, room 338, the broom closet classroom I've always dreamed about.

"Good morning, Mr. DeLucia."

"Good morning, folks."

Lean cane in usual spot. Go around science room table for two, deposit bag.

"Hi, mister."

"Hey, Lucinda."

"Mister, you know that canoeing trip we're going on."

"I do. Yes. What about it?"

"I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"I don't know."

"Then you have nothing to be afraid of."

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