My father tells me that my grandfather loved the outdoors. I only ever saw the man in his nursing home, and it used to be difficult for me to imagine him doing anything but sitting in a wheelchair and eating mashed potatoes. But I was seeing him through a child’s eyes. It is amazing how children can have such rich imaginations and yet have difficulty understanding that life for those around them was ever anything but the way it is now.
As we grow older and mature, we begin to realize that adults do the same thing that we do. We are all a little different every day. Life continues to change, and we change with it, sometimes for the good and sometimes not. For my grandfather, his life changed dramatically after his farming accident, after he lost his sight.
I could never imagine my blind Papa striking camp, setting up a tent, lighting a fire, fishing on the shore, or anything involved with camping. He would not have even been able to roast a marshmallow without catching it on fire or hardly heating it at all. Why would that man have taken my dad camping almost every weekend for many summers in a row?
The fact is that he would not have ambled through the woods, grasping from tree to tree, hoping to stumble into some flat place to pitch a tent. This was before the accident, when he still navigated the world with the easy confidence of those who can see where they are going. He taught my father his love for the woods when he still loved the woods for their wild beauty. Papa’s skilled hands were then guided by sharp eyes.
—
My father was always much older than my friends’ dads. He and mom did not get married until he was already over 40. And I did not come around for a few more years. By the time he got to take me out in the woods like Papa did for him, he was already over 50 and the AMD was advancing.
I do not remember the stress he must have been feeling as his vision began to blur. I was too young. But he had seen how Papa’s blindness had changed his life, and surely my father must have been scared. Men do a good job of disguising that fear, and they do an especially good job of sheltering their sons from anything troubling. So I do not remember ever seeing him worry about the possibility of blindness. But he must have.
Dad always used to say that it was better to have his peripheral vision anyway. That way you could still see what was coming. What was sneaking up on you. He claims to have become a much more perceptive person for having to gather more of his surroundings from the periphery. I think his was more of a philosophical wisdom than anything practical.
—
On one of our earlier trips, when I was still young, 8 or 9 I’d say, I scared myself pretty badly. At night, after the fire had burned down and we had laid in the tent to go to sleep, I realized I had to go outside to water some weeds. Dad was already breathing heavy. I was just old enough to care about not bothering him and to suppose this was something I could do on my own.
So, I wiggled out of my sleeping bag, quietly unzipped the tent, and walked far enough away that I would not wake dad with any splashing or dribbling. It was not until I had zipped my fly back up that I realized I must have turned myself around. There was no moon, and the stars hid behind the clouds, which hid themselves behind a thick canopy in a deciduous grove. I had no idea where the tent was.
Even in his younger years, a boy is determined to exercise self-reliance. As I did not want to wake dad with any too-loud peeing, I also did not want to wake him with screams and sobs for help, having gotten myself lost surely not more than 20 feet from the tent. So I simply stood where I was for a while. I stood with some tears welling in my eyes. I stood fearing that I failed.
But as I remained standing where I was, turning my head back and forth and around, trying to catch even the slightest indication of where I had left the tent, I saw a faint point of light in the dark dark of those woods. It was a blinking light that I could only see so long as I did not focus too hard in its direction. A faint blue light which must have been a notification blinking on my father’s phone, eeking out through the nylon of the tent in the pocket where dad also stored his wallet, keys, and camp knife.
I kept moving my head side to side and up and down until I was pretty sure of the direction of the tent. Whimpering, I inched closer and closer until my sandal rustled up against the material of the tent, where I found the front door, closed myself in quickly, and sealed my shivering body into my sleeping bag once again. The warmth of the bag and the closeness of my sleeping father stopped shivers which were not merely from the cold night.
—
Most children are afraid of the dark. I suppose I was too, inherently. But I was also an adventurous kid who would not back down from a chance to challenge myself to some bit of bravery. My camping adventures with dad were one way that I could boast of my manliness to my friends, who I sensed felt some superiority for having younger fathers who were more fit to play in competitive two-hand-touch football games. Even more, my easy-going attitude when it came to bedtime at sleepovers also helped me hold my own against any teasing from the other boys. No matter how unfamiliar and dark and spooky the place where we slept, my friends always knew that I would be a steady presence and companion for them when the lights went out.
Now that we are grown, I hope they still feel the same way about me. I have always considered myself a good friend, always there to lend a hand. I can say that life certainly does get very dark sometimes, and it is then that we need friends familiar and unafraid of the dark to just be near so that we can know we are safe.
—
But after so many years of living in the shadows of doubt and disappointment, I do not know how much light I have to share with those around me who need it. In fact, part of me feels like I am the one in need of someone to lead me in from the dark wilderness that surrounds me. When did I lose my way? Where am I? How do I get back?
I have been searching my periphery without success. There does not seem to be even the slightest hint of light by which I might make my way. A flat, black curtain veils my eyes, and I do not know how to move forward. I keep moving, but I am afraid I have just been walking in circles. Just because I am no longer afraid of the dark does not mean that I do not crave the light.
—
Just yesterday the thought finally hit me. It was something Papa said to my father and me long ago. Now that he is gone, I have lost so much of him, and I hardly hold onto any memories of who he was. But just one thing that he said when I was very, very young came back to me.
“Just because you’ve lost your sight doesn’t mean you’ve lost the light. I hear enough of what I need to make my way. And each time you boys visit, it’s your voices that stand out bright and clear in the air around me. Your words and your presence is my truth. And truth is light. Give me just a little truth, and I’m no blind man.”
—
How true. What I have been looking for is light, but I think what I have been searching for is truth. Give me some bright words, just a little truth in this dark time, and maybe that will be enough light to make it through.