Last month, I met a guy named Tim while traveling through Racine,
a city near Milwaukee. He was in the local Kwik-Trip gas station blindly tapping
his way up the aisle - I mean literally! He was holding a frozen chicken pot pie
in one hand and finding his way with the other. When I said - “Hello,” to let him
know I was up ahead, he gave a hearty “Hi” like we were old friends. He
looked to be close to fifty and had a ruddy complexion suggesting he wasn't
any homebody. He asked - “could you do me a favor and tell me how I'm
supposed to cook this?” I slowly read the instructions, then reminded myself
that this guy is blind, not dull. He thanked me, and we said our goodbyes.
After I’d made a pit stop and gotten my coffee, I headed out toward my car.
There he was, cheerfully tapping his red and white cane through the gas
pumps and cars toward the four-lane highway. I “nonchalantly” raced over
and asked if I could help him, to which he responded - “I’ve been here a lot
and I’m just headed to the motel down the road”, as he pointed toward the
setting sun. But I didn’t see any motel. I gave him a ride and about a
half-mile down the road he told me to “go in the next driveway” (based on my
speed). As we went around the curve, he pointed ahead - “room 34 should
be “about there” and he was off by one car width in the pothole-laden parking
lot. The motel was a dive but he seemed perfectly content. As we came to a
stop, he put out his hand, and with a smile, introduced himself. “I’m Tim, but
there are a lot of Tim's out there, so my friends just call me ‘Blind Tim’"
Thanks for the ride. “
As I drove off I realized Tim showed no outward signs of carrying any extra
burdens in life. He seemed perfectly OK with the hand he'd been dealt.
As for me, I'm afraid I would have found a little room for self pity.
But then again, I'm not close to a finished project.
