Blind but not Blind

As someone on the cusp of complete blindness, I’ve found joy and frustration in equal measure within the vibrant online communities for the blind and visually impaired.  Social media groups buzz with stories of adaptation, innovation, and triumphs over adversity, reminders that we are not defined by our lack of sight but rather our spirit.  This morning, whilst scrolling through my feed, I stumbled upon a post from Blind New World that caught my attention.  It linked to an article in Amateur Photographer titled, “How Can a blind photographer take such great photos? Find out here.”  As a photographer who’s been chasing light and shadow for nearly 40 years, selling prints and services for two decades of that time, any whisper of a fellow blind photographer pulls me in like a moth to a flame.

I double tapped the link, settled back, and let VoiceOver voice paint the words across my mind.  At first, a smile tugged at my lips.  Here was someone like me, turning limitation into art.  But as the article unfolded, that smile faded into a thoughtful frown.  The photographer in question, Gary, isn’t blind, he’s visually impaired, navigating the world through a haze of blurriness that, while challenging, still grants him glimpses of clarity I can envy.  Don’t get me wrong, I am genuinely thrilled for Gary.  His work is remarkable, a testament to persistence and creativity in the face of adversity. 

Yet, I could not shake a quiet pang of disappointment.  The title’s promise of a “blind” photographer felt like a gentle sleight of hand, one that blurred the lines between our experiences in a way that left me feeling a tad unseen.  It’s a small thing, perhaps, but it highlights a broader truth I’ve pondered often: visibility in the photography world, especially for those of us with disabilities, often hinges on connections, contexts, and sometimes, a certain alignment with the cultural and political currents.

From my own perspective, I’ve watched patterns emerge in the stories that break through and get attention.  Time and again, the blind photographs who grace magazine pages or TED stages seem to hail from he art world or carry a progressive left wing banner.  It’s an observation born of countless hours of reading articles and being involved in photography for decades.  These individuals often arrive at photography with a pre-existing platform, galleries whispering their name or networks amplifying their voice through he lense of activism.  In an industry where “edgy” and “avant-garde” can open doors, a narrative laced with political fervor for the left or artistic pedigree travels far.  It’s the old adage of “it’s not just what you, but who you know”.

I write all of this not with bitterness, but with humility and the hope that one day I will get recognized for my work, not for a political stance.  I’ve captured deserts that whisper of ancient secrets, canyons where rivers carve stories in stone, and everyday moments in parks.  Like Gary, I shoot in black and white and love contrast.  My work doesn’t sell.  I have done everything possible to get my work out amongst the public, but it hasn’t caught the eye of a sponsor or a spotlight article. 

The gentleman in this article says that he can’t use film cameras any more.  That’s a choice.  My vision is far worse than his, and I still shoot film and develop it at home.  It’s not easy, but I do it because I love it.

What do you think?  Have you encountered a “blind” story that din’t match the label?

OneCourt at Chase Field

Last Sunday, my wonderful wife, Deana, and I headed to Chase Field in Phoenix for an exciting Arizona Diamondbacks game against the Boston Red Sox. As a newly blind baseball fan, I’ve always loved the energy of live games, but navigating the sensory overload of a stadium can be daunting. Thankfully, Deana, being the incredible wife that she is, had planned ahead and reserved a One Court device for me to use during the game. This innovative technology, designed specifically for blind and visually impaired fans, has been a game changer.

The Arizona Diamondbacks hold the distinction of being the first MLB team to offer OneCourt devices, a remarkable step toward inclusivity. These devices are tailored to help blind and visually impaired fans follow the game through audio play-by-play announcements and tactile feedback. Chase Field keeps ten of these devices charged and ready for use, available upon request at no extra cost. Knowing this, Deana had called ahead to ensure one was reserved for me, making our trip to the ballpark even more special.

For those unfamiliar, the One Court device is a compact, lap gadget that delivers real-time game updates. It vibrates to indicate action on specific bases and provides audible commentary through earpieces, allowing users to track the game’s flow. It’s not perfect, but it’s a fantastic tool that bridges the gap for visually impaired fans, letting us feel closer to the action.

Walking into Chase Field is always a whirlwind. The buzz of the crowd, the echo of announcements, and the chatter of vendors create a chaotic symphony that can be disorienting for someone who is blind or visually impaired. I’ve been to the stadium before, but the energy still feels overwhelming at times. Fortunately, the staff at Chase Field are exceptional. From the moment we arrived, someone was there to guide us, ensuring we felt comfortable and supported.

Deana handled the paperwork to check out the One Court device.  Once that was sorted, we made our way to our ADA-accessible seats. These seats are a blessing, offering plenty of space so I didn’t have to worry about accidentally bumping anyone with my cane. The stadium staff even stopped by to check in, making sure I understood how to use the device and answering any questions. Their attentiveness set the tone for a fantastic day.

As the game began, the One Court device sprang into action. It provided play-by-play updates, describing each pitch, hit, and fielding play with detail. The tactile feedback was particularly cool, different vibrations corresponded to action at specific bases, helping me visualize where the runners were. It felt like I was right in the middle of the game, calling plays like a sports broadcaster.

There was a slight hiccup, though. My hearing aids made it tricky to hear the audio clearly through the device’s earpieces. The stadium noise didn’t help either! I mentioned this to the staff, and they suggested trying a different set of earpieces next time, which I’ll definitely do. Despite the audio challenge, the device still allowed me to follow the game closely, and I was grateful for the experience it provided.

The Diamondbacks and Red Sox were locked in a tight battle, staying tied through the first six innings. I kept up with the plays through the One Court device, but I found myself turning to Deana to ask for the score. Little did I know, the device has an “Info” button that provides score updates on demand! I felt a bit silly when I learned this afterward, but it’s something I’ll remember for next time.

In the seventh inning, the Red Sox pulled ahead, scoring three runs in a classic late-inning surge they’re known for. Despite a pitching change, the D-Backs couldn’t recover, and Boston clinched the win. It was a tough loss, but the excitement of the game and the vibrant atmosphere at Chase Field made it an unforgettable day. Deana and I cheered, laughed, and soaked in the experience, loss and all.

The One Court device truly enhanced my experience at Chase Field. Being able to follow the game’s action through audio and tactile feedback made me feel more connected to the sport I love. Aside from the audio issue with my hearing aids, I wished the device automatically announced the score periodically. Adding a Braille display for score updates would be a dream, though I understand that could be costly. Still, the device is a huge step forward, and I’m excited to see how future versions might improve.

For any blind or visually impaired baseball fans, I wholeheartedly recommend giving the One Court device a try. It’s free to use, and the Diamondbacks’ staff make the process easy. The device doesn’t just let you follow the game; it empowers you to engage with it in a way that feels immersive and inclusive. I felt like I was part of the action, calling out plays and cheering alongside everyone else.

Our day at Chase Field was about more than just baseball, it was about shared moments, accessibility, and the joy of being part of the crowd. Deana’s thoughtfulness in reserving the One Court device and the stadium staff’s dedication to ensuring we had a great time made the experience truly special. We left the ballpark with big smiles, already looking forward to our next game.

If you’re a blind or visually impaired fan considering a trip to Chase Field, don’t hesitate to request a One Court device. It’s a fantastic tool that brings the game to life in ways I hadn’t imagined.

Have you tried the OneCourt?

Everyone is a Blob

I’ve spent many sleepless nights trying to find the right words to describe what it’s like to go completely blind. It’s not like flipping off a light switch!  For most people who are blind, about 90% according to the stats, there’s still something to see. Maybe it’s just light perception, like knowing the sun’s out there doing its thing, or maybe it’s catching a glimpse of colors, like a fuzzy rainbow. But for a few folks I know who’ve been completely blind since birth, sight is just one piece of the sensory puzzle, and they prove you can live a full, vibrant life without it. Me? I’m somewhere near the end, navigating a world of blobs, and let me tell you, it’s a wild ride.

Let’s get one thing straight: life without sight isn’t easy, but it’s absolutely worth living to the fullest. I mean, who needs 20/20 vision when you’ve got stubbornness, a good sense of humor, and a knack for dodging furniture? (I still bump into things, but I’m working on my ninja skills.) The world of blindness is filled with challenges, but it’s also brimming with possibilities. I love chatting with people about the tech that’s out there, like screen readers, smart canes, apps that describe the world like a chatty tour guide. But the real MVP in my life is Braille.

Braille is like the secret handshake of the blind community. It’s tactile, it’s elegant, and it keeps my brain as sharp as a tack. Fun fact: reading braille lights up the same part of your brain as reading with your eyes. So, while I’m running my fingers over those delightful dots, I’m basically doing mental push-ups. Without braille, I’m not sure I’d be as happy as I am today. It’s my bridge to a world of books, notes, and magazines.

I’ve been blind in one eye since I was a day old, thanks to a condition called Septo-Optic Dysplasia, which led to Optic Atrophy. Sounds like a villain from a sci-fi flick, right? Basically, it means my optic nerve cells are slowly checking out, like guests leaving a party early. Back in the 1970s, though, I didn’t let that stop me. I was just another kid, tearing around on bikes and motorcycles, channeling my inner Evel Knievel. Sure, I had more crashes than the average daredevil—my nickname was and still is “Crash”—but I didn’t care. My parents were my biggest cheerleaders, telling me I could do anything. I still believe them.

Fast forward to January 2024, when my doctor dropped a bombshell: “Stop driving.” The next month, another gut-punch: I had about two years of sight left. We hoped it’d stretch longer, but my vision had other plans. Right now, I’m down to five degrees of peripheral vision, and it’s blurry, like looking through a foggy window. Everyone and everything is a blob. My wife, Deana has been my rock through this whole journey, encouraging me to keep going, even when I’m tempted to throw a pity party for one.

Here’s what it’s like to live in Blob City. I can still pick up colors, so I might notice a red hat or a green shirt, but details? Forget it. Reading text is like trying to solve a puzzle in a windstorm.  I have to stare at it forever, and it better be in font size “Billboard.” Walking, though, is my jam. It clears my head and usually puts me in a better mood. This morning, I strolled down to Green Valley Park, looped around the lake, and decided to grab Deana a drink from the gas station on the way back. Easy, right? Wrong.

I sauntered up to the cooler, ready to be the hero of hydration, only to remember I couldn’t read the labels. Picture me, squinting like a detective at a crime scene, trying to guess which bottle was Deana’s favorite. I grabbed one that looked vaguely familiar and hoped for the best. Then, a kind stranger piped up: “Need any help?” I could’ve hugged him. He confirmed I’d picked the right drink, then asked, “How’d you figure that out?” I explained my blob-vision situation, and he was surprised. Like most folks, he saw my white cane and dark glasses and assumed I was living in total darkness. Nope, just blob central.

That white cane and dark glasses? It’s like the unofficial “blind uniform.” People see it and assume I can’t see a thing, which is honestly a safe bet. I don’t mind the assumptions, better safe than sorry, right? Most people are just trying to help, and I’m grateful for it. I always say “thank you,” even if I don’t need the assistance. The other day, someone offered to guide me across the street, and I thought, Buddy, I’ve been crossing streets since disco was king. But I smiled, said thanks, and let them feel like a superhero. It’s a win-win.

The truth is, every blind person’s experience is different. Some of us see blobs, some see light, some see nothing at all. What we all share is the ability to adapt, to find joy in the little things, and to keep moving forward. For me, that means laughing at my own misadventures, like the multiple times I called a Mister a Misses or vice versa. That can get dicy really quick.

Losing my sight hasn’t been easy, but it’s taught me to lean into life’s unpredictability. I’m still the kid who rode motorcycles and dreamed big, just with a few more battle scars and a better sense of humor. With Deana by my side, braille to keep me sharp, and the occasional kind stranger to point me toward the right soda, I’m living a life that’s full, messy, and mine. So here’s to the blobs.  May they always be colorful, and may I never stop finding the humor in this wild, blurry world.

Download Braille BRF FILE HERE!