White Cane Day Disaster

Today, October 15th, marks White Cane Safety Day, a national observance in the United States that's been celebrated annually since 1964. It's more than just a date on the calendar; it's a powerful reminder of the incredible contributions blind and visually impaired individuals have made to the world, from innovators like Louis Braille, who revolutionized reading for the blind, to countless artists, scientists, and leaders who've shaped society because of their unique perspectives. But it's also a stark call to action for all of us, especially motorists.  The white cane isn't just a mobility tool, it's a symbol of invisibility. It screams, "We can't see—please see us.”

As someone who relies on that very cane every day, I set out this afternoon with a mix of pride and purpose, heading to the post office on what should have been a routine errand. White Cane Day always stirs a bit of optimism in me, a hope that awareness will bridge the gaps in understanding. But reality has a way of humbling us, doesn't it? Let me share what happened, because these aren't just stories, they’re the everyday truths that underscore why this day matters so much.

I approached the crosswalk near my neighborhood, cane tapping rhythmically against the pavement, ears tuned to the symphony of traffic and distant engines. That’s when it happened, an electric car glided up silently, like a ghost in the machine. I stepped into the crosswalk and suddenly, a sharp honk pierced the air. The driver had the nerve to blast their horn at me, as if I were the one at fault for not leaping out of their path. I didn't hear the car approaching; those whisper-quiet EVs are a nightmare for anyone navigating by sound alone. My heart raced, but I stood my ground, cane firmly planted. Blind pedestrians always have the right of way, and moments like this? They're a brutal reminder that not everyone knows or respects that rule.

Shaken but determined, I continued to the post office, weaving through the parking lot with careful sweeps of my cane. As I walked behind what I assumed was an empty pickup truck, listening for any signs of life, the engine cranked to life. The driver, a kind-hearted lady as it turned out, must’ve been in a rush. Before I could react, shout, or sidestep, she began backing up. Thud. A light bump against my side, enough to send a jolt through me but not enough to knock me down. I might have a bruise blooming on my hip tomorrow, but honestly, no big deal in the grand scheme. She apologized profusely and asked if I was okay. "I was looking right at my backup camera," she explained, "but you were in its blind spot."  She promised to double-check her mirrors next time, and I could tell the encounter shook her more than it did me. It's encounters like this that humanize the statistics, turning abstract awareness into real empathy.

These aren't isolated incidents; they're the threads in a larger tapestry of hesitation that keeps many blind people sidelined from the streets. No matter how rigorous our Orientation and Mobility (O&M) training is, learning to navigate intersections, gauge traffic flow, and trust our senses, there’s always the wildcard: distracted drivers, overlooked signals, and yes, those insidious electric cars that sneak up without a whisper. It's why we pause at curbs a little longer, why we grip our canes a little tighter. White Cane Day shines a light on this, urging society to not just recognize our achievements but to actively make space for our safety.

So, on this October 15th, let's lean into the day's dual spirit. Celebrate the blind trailblazers who've enriched our world, from Helen Keller's advocacy to modern tech wizards coding accessibility into our digital lives. And to every driver out there: Scan those blind spots, yield at crosswalks, and remember what that white cane means. See us. Hear us. Make room for us. Because in a world that's increasingly quiet and fast, awareness isn't optional, it’s essential.

If you've got your own White Cane Day stories or tips for safer streets, drop them in the comments below. Let's build a more visible path together.

Stay safe out there.

Jefferson Davis holding a white cane and wearing a shirt that reads, "BLIND LIVES MATTER".

Walk by faith, not by sight

Over a year ago, I did Orientation and Mobility training through the state. My O&M instructor and I walked for miles over several sessions, listening to traffic, learning routes, and learning how to navigate large intersections whilst being blind/visually impaired and using a cane. I listening to everything he said, followed his instructions, and advanced quickly. After a while, I could come and go with confidence. Keeping some form of independence is incredibly important. It is not always easy and can be very dangerous, but it is what we do. Blind people walk by faith, not by sight. The anxiety level that makes your heart pound the first time you step off the curb and across the road doesn’t go away. It is faith in God that gets me across a busy intersection.

I was using my cane every day, mainly to traverse rough terrain. When we moved, I stopped using it all the time. My vision has gotten a lot worse since we moved out here. I’ve avoided using the cane, as it implies that I’m completely blind. Roughly only 10% of blind people are completely blind. The rest of us see something. I have been blind in my left eye all of my life due to Septo-Optic Dysplasia. Several years ago, I started going blind in my right eye due to the same reason, but mainly due to Optic Atrophy caused by it. My vision has gotten so bad that I only have around 20 degrees of peripheral vision. Try to cover up your left eye and then try to look through a straw with your right eye. Then, try to do a normal task.

I am now fully embracing the use of the cane full time, and it has become an indispensable companion for navigating my daily adventures. I rely on it to get to work and to explore various spots around town. The great thing about living in Payson, Arizona, is that it’s a charming small town, and nearly everything is conveniently close by. My workplace is situated just a mile away from home, making my daily commute quite manageable. Additionally, my favorite coffee shop is only about half a mile from my doorstep, which I cherish for my morning pick-me-ups. I used to enjoy riding my electric bike, but unfortunately, it became increasingly risky for me to do so.

Speaking of that charming little coffee shop, I genuinely shocked everyone the very first time I walked in with my trusty cane in hand. I could faintly hear people chatting away from outside, all buzzing with conversation, but as soon as I stepped inside, an eerie quietness enveloped the space, as if the world had paused just for me. You could hear a pin drop, and I felt smaller by the second. I quickly ordered my usual coffee and then left, leaving behind the hushed stares. I wanted to use this experience as a notable example of the common person's reaction to my presence. I’m not dead, and I’m certainly not dying…at least not today!

If you “See” someone with a blind cane, don’t say, “I’m Sorry”. It’s OK. I’m walking with a smile. Say, “Hello”.

Don’t cry, please. That helps no one. I’m losing my sight. It sucks, but I’m going to kick blindness’ butt! And, Jesus Loves Me…and You!

Don’t ask me how I’m feeling. How are you feeling today? I’m not depressed. It’s all good. I’m just glad to be here.

A blind cane is a tool. Ask me about the cane. They make hundreds of different canes and tips to go on it. I’m a nerd, it’s true. Just like Voice Over on my iPhone, the cane assist me in getting from point A to point B. It is incredibly simple but incredibly helpful. I can feel every crack, crevice, pot hole, and gradient change. I don’t have depth perception, so when the grade changes, I need to know about it! Otherwise, I go for a tumble. Ask me how I know.

Adjusting to life with a cane takes some time. The O&M instructors teach us how to not get hit by a car, but they don’t teach us how to deal with the day to day interactions and crazy drivers. There are so many great people that offer to give me a ride or offer to get me across the street safely that any bad interactions with people are obliterated by kindness.

As I was on my way home today, I was told in a gut (GOD) sort of way to slow down and stop. So, I was able to see a car pulling out at an intersection. I almost walked around the car and on down the sidewalk. Within a few seconds, the car pulled out and a truck, hauling a trailer behind it, had to slam on its brakes to avoid the car. It almost jackknifed and the trailer ran up onto the sidewalk where I would have been walking. I didn’t see the entire incident, obviously, it was all a blur, once I heard the screeching brakes and turned and managed to focus, it was over with. Luckily, no one got hurt, but if I had not listened, I could’ve been killed or seriously injured. Trust your gut.

This blog will continue to be about photography but also the adventure of going blind.

My wonderful wife, Deana’s Creative Studio, is the reason I am able to get up each morning with a smile and look forward to the day ahead. She truly is such a kind, compassionate, and amazing Christian woman, and I feel incredibly blessed to call her my wife. She is not just my partner; she is also my greatest supporter and helper in all things. I remember jokingly mentioning while we were dating that one day she’d have to lead me around by my arm due to my vision changing. It’s unfortunate that my light-hearted joke is now coming to fruition, but thankfully, she doesn’t have to do it very often at all. Love you so much, Deana! :)