WHATEVER HAPPENED TO TACT?

Has this ever happened to you? Somebody starts talking about their pets and you tell them about your rabbit, guinea pig, or other type of creature other than a dog or cat. Instead of accepting the fact that you like this or that animal as a pet, the person you're speaking to starts talking about recipes. Even when you let that person know that your pig, hen, or goat is a pet, the fool tries to justify her or his tactlessness.

Because I have a rabbit living in my kitchen, boorish individuals feel it necessary to talk about how delicious they are. I try to be as polite as possible when I tell them that my Deborah is a beloved pet but some folks just don't get it. When I mention that dogs and cats are delicacies in some Asian countries, my point still doesn't get across.

I believe I was fortunate to grow up in an age before tactfulness went out of style. My mother, teachers, and supervisors at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind taught me that if I couldn't say something nice, I shouldn't say anything at all. They also showed me how The Golden Rule works both ways. Perhaps I'm wrong but it seems that people have forgotten this important lesson.

Because of this, I mourn with people whose dog died, even though I'm not a "dog person." I'm not a "bird person" either but I sympathize when somebody's budgie passes on. Some people have rats for pets while others have snakes, yet I don't make stupid remarks. It's their choice, just as it's my choice to have a house rabbit.

I also tire of the dead rabbit stories people feel they must tell me. Did I ask them for a run-down on how their dog killed the bunny? Why can't they say, "That's nice," or something similar? Instead, they tactlessly blurt what they ought to know would hurt the feelings of a rabbit-loving person such as myself.

I've also had some tactless comments made about my poor vision. One local senior citizen even had the nerve to suggest that my life wasn't worth living. Though that belief once was accepted as normal, it still hurt. Sight-impaired people lead productive and happy lives in spite of their lack of sight. My hope is that as people get to know me, they'll realize that blindness or poor vision isn't a living death.

I wrote about my love of Rabbits in When a Man Loves a Rabbit: Learning and Living With Bunnies. It chronicles the amazing discoveries I made while living with house rabbits and the wonderful times we had.

I also wrote about my struggles of being institutionalized, beginning at seven years of age, in Deliverance from Jericho: Six Years in a Blind School. In a matter-of-fact way, I describe what life was like there and how I felt about being five-hundred miles from home for months at a stretch.


My first two books are on the Bruce Atchison's books page. How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Barnes & Noble,    and Virtual Bookworm Publishers in e-book and paperback form

SOME WOUNDS RUN TOO DEEP.

Have you ever had a traumatic psychological wound that took decades to heal? I have had many in my lifetime. One of the deepest was being sent to an institution for blind children for six long years.

What made matters worse was when people, unfamiliar with institutional life, condemned me for hating it. Even my parents couldn't understand why I called the place a jail and complained bitterly about my lack of freedom there.

I related many of these misunderstandings in my Deliverance from Jericho: Six Years in a Blind School memoir. Even when I attended public school, sighted friends doubted what I said about the institution.

Below is an excerpt relating how a well-meaning acquaintance inadvertently struck a raw nerve during the summer of 1974.

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I had absolutely no wish to see the institution in which I had spent six long years. Regrettably, our bus driver parked on Eighth Avenue and said, "This is the Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind on your left."

I stared at my lap, refusing to gaze out the window. "Aren't you going to look at the school?" a woman next to me asked.

"I spent six years at that lousy place," I sourly replied. She sensed the bitterness in my voice and wisely changed the subject.

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Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on the link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.

THE CRUEL SHEPHERD.

We should expect every representative of Jesus Christ to speak the truth about all matters. Furthermore, we believe they should have our best interest at heart in whatever they say and do.

Such isn't always the case in houses of worship today. I once attended a home-based church led by a lay preacher who had delusions of grandeur. In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I wrote the following account of the cruellest thing he said about me. Even worse, he spoke it behind my back at a meeting that I missed due to work. I borrowed a recording of it from the church and heard his outrageous diagnosis of my poor sight.

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The minute I arrived home, I threaded the tape on the machine. I enjoyed the recording until I heard Sister Roberta ask, "Why isn't Bruce being healed? We've prayed faithfully for him, but he still has poor sight."

Brother Herald drew a long breath, then explained, "The reason God hasn't given him full sight is because he lusts after it."

I gasped as if he had kicked me in the crotch.

"But can you blame him?" Brother Herald continued as his voice became choked with emotion. "To see his young playmates running around and not being able to join them when he was a child - it's no wonder he wants sight so badly."

Then he opened the scriptures to James 4:1 and read. "From whence come wars and fightings among you? Come they not hence, even of your lusts that war in your members? Ye lust, and have not: ye kill, and desire to have, and cannot obtain: ye fight and war, yet ye have not, because ye ask not. Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss, that ye may consume it upon your lusts."

His follow-up statements wounded me even deeper. "There is also generational sin in his ancestry. I will not mention the scarlet lady, but we know God punishes those who hate him to the third and fourth generation. It has been revealed to me that this is a generational sin but I have put a stop to it. His children will not be affected by this curse."

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

ONE LAST NIGHT WITH A FRIEND.

Did you ever stay over with a friend and know it would be the last time you two would be together? I had that experience with a friend who attended Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind. He and I shared the same interest in long distance shortwave and AM radio reception. Friends such as Tommy were rare at the school. Rarer still were the weekends when I could visit the homes of my friends instead of being cooped up in the dorm.

From Deliverance from Jericho: Six Years in a Blind School, here is the poignant account of my final hours with a good friend.

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On my last night at Tommy's house, we stayed up late talking and listening to his multi-band receiver. Reception was fantastic that evening. I envied Tommy for having such a high- end radio. It was one of those professional general coverage receivers which amateur radio operators used.

"Promise you'll write me when you get home," Tommy said as the eastern horizon began to lighten. I promised and drifted off. My braille skills were sketchy at best but I believed I could reply to his letters.

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Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on the link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.

THE CURSE OF ISOLATION.

Did you know how to cross a busy street when you were thirteen years old? Did you know how to take a bus or dial a phone number to find out the correct time? Did you know how to push a shopping cart into a row of shopping carts? Believe it or not, being isolated in Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind left me in that pitiful state of ignorance. The school staff did everything for us and supervisors planned out each day's activities.

In my Deliverance from Jericho: Six Years in a Blind School memoir, I related just how frightened I was of crossing a busy street. Below is an account of that humiliating afternoon when fully-sighted folks misunderstood my reluctance to run an errand.

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I spent one of the last weekends during June with a day student named Tommy. I had befriended him a few years previously. Regrettably, my stay was not entirely pleasant. I sat in the backyard with Tommy, enjoying the hazy afternoon sunlight, when his older sister walked up to us. "Can you go to the store for me and pick up some thread? I'm all out of this colour."

I found myself on the horns of a dilemma. Because Jericho's staff escorted us everywhere in groups, I never learned how to navigate through city streets. Fort Saskatchewan was a small town with no busy intersections. Consequently, my mobility skills were far behind those of a sighted thirteen-year- old.

As I was afraid to admit my fear of crossing the congested street near her house, I asked, "Why can't you get it yourself?" "Cause I'm busy, that's why," she snapped.

Then she changed tactics. "You've got some sight, don't you?" When I agreed she said, "Since Tommy is blind and Mom is out, you'll have to go for me."

"You've got better sight. I don't understand why you can't go yourself."

"Alright, I'll go but you'll be in trouble when Mom comes home. I'll make sure she never invites you here again," Tommy's sister threatened as she stormed into the house. A minute later, she slammed the front door and strode to the store.

After Tommy's mother arrived home, his sister told her what happened. "You did a selfish thing today you know," she accused. "A true gentleman would have done that errand."

Silence seemed the most prudent course for me to take. I felt too proud to admit my fear of the traffic and too angry to think properly. I also failed to figure out why her daughter, who was blessed with perfect sight, expected me to run her errand.

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Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on the link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.

RECALLING ASSASSINATIONS AND TURMOIL IN THE SIXTIES.

Do you remember any frightening news reports from when you were a child? How did they impact you? The spring of 1968 was a particularly terrifying time for me. As I related in my Deliverance from Jericho: Six Years in a Blind School memoir, the news reports seemed to portend imminent world-wide disaster. We survived those days but for some of us, the memories remain.

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Meanwhile, I became increasingly aware and worried about the events in America at the exact time when we began studying that nation in school. Neddie had informed me about how black people were discriminated against there. I also heard on the radio how civil rights leader Martin Luther King Junior was shot in April. The fighting escalated in the Vietnam War, increasing the number of casualties. I was vaguely aware of the riots in America's cities which happened in the previous year but suddenly the unrest appeared more relevant, as did the anti-war protests. Though I lived in Canada, it appeared that the United States and the world were spiralling out of control.

Early one morning, I could not sleep so I listened to Mom's radio with the earphone. That's when I learned that Senator Robert Kennedy was shot. I tuned around the dial and noticed practically every station carried live news coverage. I dreaded hearing what would happen next as well as in the days to come.

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Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on the link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.

THE HIRELING

Have you ever been under the authority of a person who was just doing his or her job? I had that experience many times, particularly in May of 1968. While attending Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind, a supervisor took us boys to the Pacific National Exhibition. Instead of enjoying the outing with us, as the grade five teacher did a few weeks earlier, he just did his duty. In Deliverance from Jericho: Six Years in a Blind School, I related the events of this excursion and how it lacked the warmth of genuine care. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Mr. Moiarty brought us to the exhibition as well during May. This was no sacrifice for him, compared to Mr. Lao's generosity, since Jericho funded the outing. Even so, we did have fun and the weather was warmer than when we went with Mr. Lao. This fairground visit also had its troubles. I made the mistake of wedging my brown Hush Puppy shoe toes under the roller coaster seat in front of me. When I stepped out of the car and glanced down, two black blotches covered my toes. Dread filled my mind since I knew Mom would yell at me the minute she saw that. At supper time, our supervisor bought us each a hot dog and fries from a stand. Though I ate mine slowly, the meal seemed inadequate. "Could I have another hot dog, please?" I asked. "Be glad you got those," Mr. Moiarty barked. "People don't owe you a living, you know." I shut my mouth and tried to put the half- empty feeling in my belly out of my mind. The sun had set when our supervisor decided we should return to the dorm. Just as Mr. Moiarty was ready to walk us to the bus stop, Jimmy thought he would have one last ride on the roller coaster. While our supervisor's back was turned, he sprinted through the gate and onto the ride. It pulled away from the platform before any of us noticed Jimmy was on it. When Mr. Moiarty discovered that he was one boy short, he ordered everybody to stand next to the ride until it ended. The whole group was upset at Jimmy when he stepped off the roller coaster. "Do you realize you made everybody wait while you took one more ride than everybody else?" Mr. Moiarty glared as Jimmy mumbled an apology. That was only the start of our dorm mate's mischief. On the bus home, Jimmy decided to steal a fist-full of Buzzers, the transit company's newsletter. Fortunately, our supervisor was able to flag the bus and return the stolen papers. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on the link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.

HAPPINESS IS BAKING YOUR OWN COOKIES.

What are your first memories of helping with baking cookies? When I was a boy, preparing food didn't intrigue me much. My interest was in eating it.

On a lovely weekend in 1968, a gracious couple let me stay with their family. Being five-hundred miles from home in Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind, spending time in a genuine home, rather than a sterile institution, was a blessing.

From my Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, here is a pleasant vignette of one happy experience in Vancouver.

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On one of those blessed weekend outings, Mrs. Rupert asked me to help with baking the cookies. She showed me how to flatten the dough with the rolling pin. She also demonstrated how to keep dough from sticking to the roller by sprinkling flour over it. Mrs. Rupert handed me a cookie cutter and showed me how to remove the different shapes.

Far from being an irksome chore, this turned out to be enjoyable. Once the cookies were baked, I experienced the added satisfaction of eating treats which I actually helped bake.

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Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on the link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.

PLANNING AN ESCAPE

By now, most children in North American schools have resigned themselves to the routine of classes and homework. In a majority of situations, these students are able to return home each afternoon. Others aren't so fortunate.

Back in April of 1969, I dreaded another long exile from home. My parents sent me to Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind, five hundred miles from home. At the time, they were convinced by government bureaucrats that only specialized teachers could educate sight-impaired children.

From my Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, here's a vignette depicting how deeply returning to that institution depressed me and how strongly tempted I wished to escape.

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Easter ended far too soon for me. I stood in the day coach's doorway, gazing out at Edmonton, and a strong temptation gripped me. "What if I escaped and ran away?" I thought. An argument raged in my mind between the practical side and my emotions. Finally, I gave in to the inevitable and shuffled toward the seat assigned to me. I recalled how humiliating my last attempt to escape Jericho had been.

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Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on the link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.

AN ALARMING WAKE-UP CALL.

Most children in North America awoke on Easter Sunday of 1965 in their own beds at home. I'm sure that many of them eagerly threw the covers aside and began hunting all over their houses for hidden goodies left by the Easter Bunny.

Things were far different for my dorm mates and I at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind in Vancouver, British Columbia. No voices of loving parents and siblings greeted us that morning. Neither did we scurry around our utilitarian bedrooms while searching for those elusive treats. As I wrote in my Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir. that morning was anything but joyful.

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The fire bell woke us up early on Easter Sunday. "Everyone wait here in the hall and don't talk," Mrs. Sandyford ordered. "Wait here until the firemen say it's safe." We stood, impatiently fidgeting, while the bell kept ringing.

The fire truck eventually arrived. Our supervisor went out to speak with the crew while we waited. The whole incident appeared ridiculous to me. Nothing was burning. Many adult rules and customs seemed absurd. The men left after approximately an hour and, since it was nearly seven, we dressed and went for breakfast. I heard later that a small earthquake happened but I felt no shaking.

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Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on the link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.

THE DISAPPOINTING EASTER EGG.

Have you ever bitten into something that you thought was one thing and it turned into quite another? I've had that happen many times. Either the food wasn't all it was cracked up to be or I expected the flavour to be different.

One of the many vignettes which I left out of Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), due to space constraints, was the time our grade two teacher brought a basket of Easter eggs to class.

As Mrs. Rose passed out one seasonal treat to each child, my mouth watered. Like any child, I had a sweet tooth. Any offer of candy, chocolate, or other sugary confection, I eagerly accepted.

When Mrs Rose handed me the multi-coloured delicacy, my mouth watered even more. I took a big bite and then stopped in surprise. It wasn't candy as I had anticipated but a boiled chicken egg. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. As I had never eaten that sort of Easter egg, I hadn't known that I needed to peal it first.

To my profound relief, none of the others in the room noticed my faux pas. They were all too busy pealing their eggs. I copied the rest of the children as they shelled their treats and ate them. Though I felt let down, I enjoyed the taste of the boiled egg. It was nicer than those over-cooked monstrosities served in the dining hall.

I wrote about the dreadful food at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind in Deliverance from Jericho. Please check out the link on the left side of this page for more information about this matter-of-fact memoir. Please contact me directly if the comment form doesn't work for you.

THE WILD AND WOOLY DAYS OF RADIO

Remember the days of top forty radio? Talking a mile a minute, disk jockeys with crazy nicknames played requests and dedications for their loyal fans. Their shows were fast-paced and fun to hear.

One radio station that kept my mind off of my homesickness was CKLG. When my parents sent me five hundred miles from home to Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind, this Vancouver radio station's DJs helped make life a bit more bareable for me.

In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I recounted a fair number of incidents when tuning into CKLG kept me entertained. In this particular excerpt, the stunts the DJs pulled were wild by today's standards.

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The DJs I listened to were extremely creative back then. One man threatened to blow up the station one afternoon. I listened intently as he counted down to zero and pressed the button. Of course, it was all done with sound effects. After the imaginary smoke cleared, I heard him say, "Oops! I hit another building. Ah well, I might as well play more boss music." The other boys and I enjoyed the joke immensely.

One announcer claimed that somebody set up a pirate radio station. At the appointed time, I waited outside the dorm with the radio tuned to the frequency which the announcer gave. I only heard static. After a half hour of hearing no broadcast, I switched off the set, deciding the pirate would never make his debut. I felt let down since I had never heard a brand new station come on the air.

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Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on the link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.

THE KITE THAT SOARED.

A while ago, I blogged about my father's ridiculous attempt to show us how to fly a kite. The fiasco prejudiced me against that activity for several years.

In 1970, a teacher at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind showed us sight-impaired students how wonderful holding the string of a kite in flight felt.

From Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here is how one of the few amiable adults in that institution provided us with an unforgettable experience.

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Kites never interested me much. After the disappointing incident with Dad a few years previously, I had a low opinion of those playthings.

"I'm going to build a large kite," Mr. Cardinall announced one day. "We'll take turns flying it." As he taught us regarding the parts of a kite and how the wind would lift it, I thought this might work after all.

The whole class was excited when, on a windy sunlit March afternoon, the kite was ready for launching. I felt sceptical about this odd-shaped contraption, made from sticks and brown paper. This kite, standing almost as tall as our teacher, was like none that I had seen in our textbooks. We struggled to get the kite to the brow of the hill above the school. The steady wind nearly wrested it from us several times. Once Mr. Cardinall securely attached the tail of blackboard brushes and tightly tied the string, he gave the order for us to let it go.

To our delight, the kite rose majestically above the forest next to the school. Each one of us had a turn holding the string and feeling its animated tugs. Then disaster struck. The wind died down and the kite crashed in the trees. Since it fell across the chain link fence, we were unable to retrieve it easily.

"It's no good. We'll have to leave it there," Mr. Cardinall admitted. "We'll never get it out of that forest."

I felt sad at the delicate device's destruction but the exhilarating thrill of having flown a real kite inspired me. I tried making kites of my own. None flew properly since they lacked the proper weight to surface area ratio. Still, I enjoyed trying to build them from scratch.

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Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on the link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.

CONNECTING TO THE OUTSIDE WORLD.

Have you ever felt cut off from the rest of society? Most of us have some sort of contact with the events happening around us. Radios, TVs, newspapers, computers, and smart phones help to keep us in touch with the news as well as with our friends.

The situation for me and my dorm mates was much different in 1968. We blind and sight-impaired students in Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind were largely cut off from our families and the music scene. The institution provided us with two black-and-white TVs but radios were a luxury that only a few privileged boys had.

From my Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, here's an excerpt that depicts how desperately I craved having my own radio, as well as the kindness of a teacher.

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Being without a radio, however, weighed heavily upon my soul. One day after classes ended, I confided my problem to Mr. Lao. "I sure miss having a radio," I began. "Arnold broke mine and it couldn't be repaired. Now my mom and dad won't buy me a new one because they say it costs too much."

Mr. Lao considered the problem. "I have a transistor portable. Would you like to borrow it?"

My heart leapt for joy as I said, "You bet."

"Please be careful with it. I would like you to return it before Easter," he cautioned.

I carried the precious receiver to the dorm the next afternoon, feeling overjoyed that I could listen to my beloved rock music whenever I wanted to. This radio was black, came with a brown leather holder, and was fairly large for a portable. The receiver's sound quality was rich and it pulled in distant stations well. I spent hours standing outside of the dorm during the evenings to hear the weak signals even better.

My lessons in economizing came in handy with respect to the batteries. Mr. Lao's radio was powered by four penlight cells instead of the nine volt type. I discovered that the holder could be removed and a nine volt battery connected. One of those cost less than buying the four penlight cells.

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Deliverance from Jericho abounds with vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to click on the link to my books or contact me directly for more information about them.

PREACHING TO THE CHOIR.

This is a lesson that I learned after years of failure. People read what they're interested in, not what they ought to read. How did I learn this? I wrote two memoirs. The sales of these paperbacks aptly demonstrate the value of knowing your readership.

In 2006, I wrote When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies). Because I knew of six-hundred folks who lived with house rabbits, I was able to sell approximately two-hundred-and-fifty copies. Blitzprint, the publisher, also sold some copies through their website. I have forty or so for sale at present.

My second memoir, Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) was literally a different story. Due to a misunderstanding with my publisher, I ended up with a hundred-and-fifty copies. Sales of this paperback have been poor since its publication in 2007. No matter how I promoted it to groups dealing with social or historical issues, the copies gathered dust on my shelves.

Only one group of people expressed interest in the book. A considerable number of blind and visually-impaired readers wrote to me, asking if the book was in an accessible form. Unfortunately for me, I misjudged the sighted public's interest in my eye-witness account of life in a residential school for the blind. This is why I published only a print version of it. Furthermore, several blind folks wanted the book for free. My hope was to have the book pay for itself as When a Man Loves a Rabbit did.

These lessons are quite clear to me. I must write paper versions of books for those with sight, the inclination, and the money to buy them. I must also investigate e-books and their readability by blind customers's screen reader software. Crass though it sounds, preaching to the choir sells.

I hope to have How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity published sometime this year. As it's my testimony of how God lead me to a proper understanding of himself and his Word, I believe it has much wider appeal than my previous books. Additionally, I hope it shows the importance of discipleship as well as the danger cults pose to new converts.

I'M GLAD I'M NOT THAT "MIELKE BOY."

"Why aren't you like that Mielke boy?" my mom often exclaimed in exasperation whenever she ranted about my failings. "He can't see at all, yet he types his own letters and plays the piano. He gets such good grades too." If she thought this criticism would spur me on to achieve academic excellence, it had a much different effect.

"That Mielke Boy" who Mom esteemed at my expense was my schoolmate at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind in Vancouver, British Columbia. As his parents lived near the school, he was able to go home each evening. I had to board at that institution for months at a stretch. This fellow pupil could do no wrong in Mom's eyes. I feel sure she envied his parents for having such a brilliant son while she had lacklustre offspring.

If only Mom knew the rest of the story. My friend's parents were strict disciplinarians who stood for no nonsense. For example, talking at the dinner table was forbidden. So was any sort of frivolity inside the house. Even the living room was off limits to the children unless they were supervised. No wonder this pet of Mom's excelled at school.

The last time I spoke to "that Mielke boy" was in the summer of 1975. The change in him astonished me. He swore, listened to rock music (which his parents forbad), and proudly announced that he took drugs. The break between him and his parents caused such extreme hard feelings that they might never have reconciled.

My mom should have been grateful that I wasn't like her adored "Mielke boy." My marks were average and I graduated from high school, yet I turned out all right.

Though I forgave Mom and pray for her each day, the emotional damage she caused with her constant comparison of me to my school friend still hasn't healed after more than forty years. The lesson from this is clear. Parents should encourage, not discourage, their children. My friend and I would have felt far more affection toward our respective parents had they cheered us on in the good things we did rather than pick at our failures.

Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

HOW WE HAD A "REEL" GOOD TIME DURING CHRISTMAS.

The festive season is supposed to be a time of unlimited happiness. Everybody knows that, right? The general expectation is that family and friends get together to exchange gifts and eat turkey. The last thing people expect or want is domestic conflict.

The holiday season isn't a joyous time for many in this age of marital contention and no-fault divorce. Christmas is one time of year when incidents of family violence, or the threat of it, peaks. Everybody - according to advertisers - is supposed to have the "perfect Christmas." That pressure sometimes causes quarrels to turn deadly.

In my Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I wrote about how we managed to have fun during the holidays in spite of the perpetual threat of family strife. In this excerpt from the book, I related how we coped with this omnipresent danger.

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Another source of entertainment for my family was an open reel tape recorder. While I was in Vancouver, Mom purchased it, along with a handful of reels, in order to tape Dad's tirades and play them to a lawyer or whomever did not believe he behaved as violently as she said. The machine was rarely used for its intended purpose but Diane and I thoroughly enjoyed using it. Hearing our voices coming out of the speaker was a sublime experience which kept us entranced for hours.

Diane interviewed me with the recorder one afternoon. First, I related how my day went when I left Jericho for Christmas vacation and how I met Dad at the airport.

"What did you eat for dinner on Friday night?" she asked next.

"Oh, the usual - fish and chips - but for dessert I think we had bananas instead of apples." "Sounds delicious."

"You bet." I said that about the bananas, not the supper.

"Have you been in the indoor swimming pool?" Diane continued.

"Yeah. I've been in there lots of times."

"Can you go ice skating?"

"No."

"Too bad."

"Do you play the piano?"

"Well, yeah, but I feel like quitting."

That recording was the only one to survive from the holiday. Because we only had a few reels of tape, we continually reused them.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

THE PRESENT THAT MEANT SO MUCH.

Have you ever given someone a gift that meant immeasurably more to that person than you ever expected it would? Though it eventually broke, the Christmas gift that my dad gave me in 1966 touched me deeply. This man, usually at the bar with his buddies, showed at least some recognition of how much I yearned to be with him. Perhaps he, in his sober moments, realized the bond all boys feel with their fathers.

This short excerpt from Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) is one of many which demonstrated how deeply those rare acts of kindness from Dad touched me.

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I associated Volkswagens with my father because he had always driven that make of vehicle. Even though he was an alcoholic, I felt great affection for him. Consequently, when I opened my gifts on Christmas morning, I was delighted to find a battery-powered metallic brown toy Volkswagen.

"I would have given you a blue one but the store didn't have that colour," Dad informed me. Though it was brown, I treasured that toy.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

ANOTHER PARTY POOPED.

A pox on these people who spoil parties! We've all known bossy individuals who had to make false accusations or order others around. Even worse, these sort of party-goers never seem to understand how odious they are to the rest.

I had little choice but to endure the rudeness of two attenders at a dorm party in December of 1968. In Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about the time two disagreeable people ruined what could have been an enjoyable evening. This is what happened.

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The supervisors held a Christmas party in the study one evening. The intermediate and senior girls were invited along with the senior boys. As I enjoyed a piece of chocolate cake, Mr. Moiarty said, "Take those and offer them around to the other kids." I hastily ate the piece I chose and walked around the room with the tray. I resented being imposed upon without warning but I obeyed.

Once I finished, I sat down. "Why did you have to take a bite out of my cake?" Tracy accused.

"I didn't do that," I protested. She turned her back and ignored me as I explained that I never touched her piece. "So much for the Christmas spirit," I thought.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.

Why books need pictures.

Imagine if you couldn't read but you wished you could. Because I had no magnifying glass when I was a child, I could only enjoy the illustrations in regular print books. I was fortunate that the library at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind had a number of these with well-drawn illustrations. The multiple shelves of stories and encyclopedias would have been of no help to me otherwise.

I wrote about my discovery of the library's treasures in my Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir. Its books helped me endure the painful autumn of 1967 .

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In addition to studying, I began to borrow books from the school library. One described the lives of cavemen, including plenty of exciting drawings. I felt strongly tempted not to return the book. The print was too small for me to easily read without a magnifying glass but I did enjoy the illustrations. Of course, I eventually returned it.

The pictures in the dorm's encyclopedia were interesting to look at as well but the print was far too small to read. I especially liked leafing through the volume with the clear plastic pages displaying the human anatomy. Various internal organs were painted on each sheet. As I turned pages, I could see different parts of the body revealed.

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Deliverance from Jericho is filled with many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Read more about Deliverance from Jericho here. Please feel free to contact me directly as well.