FORTY-FIVE YEARS OUT OF JERICHO

Have you ever left some place and not realized you'd never return? It can be either a sad or happy memory, depending on how that place was for you. In my case, I wish I'd known I'd be leaving Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind for the final time.

On this day in 1970, my classmates and I felt jubilant that we'd finally be going home. Many of the boys in my dorm lived hundreds of miles away from Vancouver, British Columbia and were anxious to leave that wretched place.

We packed our suitcases and lugged them to the parking lot when the school bus arrived. Apart from some of my things falling out of a shopping bag on the bus, the trip to the airport was uneventful.

For the next two years, I dreaded being sent back to Jericho because some bureaucrat thought I wasn't adjusting well to public school. Labouring under this apprehension, I worked hard to get good grades and prayed often to be spared being exiled to Vancouver again.

When the two years had passed, I suddenly realized that I couldn't be sent back to Jericho. I was registered in high school and was living on my own. Had somebody tried to send me back, I think I'd have refused. Anyway, when I realized the fact that I'd never be sent to Jericho again, I danced a jig in my room. What a relief that was!

I did well enough in high school, though I never went to university. I had been burdened with homework and people told me University was even harder. Tuition also intimidated me since I lacked the money.

My work experience hasn't been noteworthy but I managed to stay off welfare for most of my life. I'm on disability now but I worked hard for my pension. Furthermore, I've written three memoirs and many freelance articles. Read more about my paperbacks at the Bruce Atchison's books page as well as Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Powell's Books.

STEPPING OUT OF JERICHO.

Have you ever had something good happen but you didn't realize it until later? That's what I experienced in 1970. It was a watershed event in my life, yet I didn't believe it was at the time. Adults had reneged on their promises often in the past so I dared not build up my hopes.

June 25th is a special date for me. That was the day I left Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind for the last time. As days went, it was like any final day at the institution. Our supervisor woke us at seven o'clock. We dressed and after our ablutions, hurried down the long hill to the dining hall for breakfast.

There were no classes that day so we trudged up the hill to the dorm. As we packed our suitcases, we chattered about the upcoming summer vacation. Everybody was in a celebratory mood.

When we heard our supervisor announce that the school bus had arrived, we lugged our luggage downstairs to the parking lot. Though it was lunch time, we felt eager to get away from that jail of a school. We knew we would get a meal on the plane that would taste much better than the dining hall's slop.

As we left the bus at the airport, some of my things fell out of my shopping bag. My suitcases were full so I carried those extra items onto the plain. Several boys complained about the delay as I scrambled to grab my things.

possessions went well for me after that. The stewardess showed us to our seats and the flight took off on schedule. We experienced no turbulence during the flight and landed without incident at Edmonton's international airport.

Dad met me at the airport and drove me home safely too. As far as I could tell, he hadn't been drinking too much. The weather had been sunny in Vancouver as well as in Edmonton so we had no weather hazards to worry about.

I felt the usual euphoria I had always felt on arriving at home in Fort Saskatchewan. I greeted Mom and my sisters as I had done for the past six years. Then Mom cooked supper as we watched TV.

I lived with the fear of being sent back to Jericho for two years. Various administrators and Mom made it clear that if I didn't do well, back I would go. When I registered for high school in 1972, I suddenly realized that the officials couldn't send me back. Jericho taught only grades one to ten, with special tutoring for exceptional students in grades eleven and twelve. I had done reasonably well the past two years, passing both times. The joy of that realization overwhelmed me as I capered around my rented room.

I wrote about my years at that soul-crushing institution in Deliverance from Jericho: Six Years in a Blind School. Click on the "Bruce Atchison's books' link on the left side of this page for details.

Meanwhile, I have a brand new book out called How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity. Visit Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Virtual Bookworm Publishers.

THE TV DICTATOR

Living with a bully is never easy but being in a residential school for deaf and blind children makes things much worse. As I wrote previously, the boy who I call Charlie dictated what entertainment we could enjoy. In Deliverance from Jericho, I wrote about the time I ran afoul of the bully's TV preferences. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Charlie also dictated what television programs we could watch. One gloomy Saturday morning, I tried to find an interesting show. When I turned the channel to one of the local stations, I realized that Batman was on. This was one show which he declared to be for "little kids" and none of us should watch it. Just as I was about to turn the channel, Geoffrey happened to open the door and peer in. Assuming that I had been secretly enjoying the show and I changed the channel because he caught me in the act, he raced to tell everybody the news. Soon all the boys were calling me "Batman" and saying what a "baby" I was. It mattered not that I told the truth regarding what happened. Charlie was especially harsh, not letting up on me for a minute. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of life in Canada's infamous school for the deaf and blind. Read more about it at the link on the left hand side of this page.

I THANK GOD IT'S GONE.

Though Canadian Thanksgiving Day is over, I thank God every day for the wondrous freedoms I enjoy. One precious freedom is the lack of pain I now feel about being sent to a residential school for deaf and blind students in Vancouver, British Columbia. At the tender age of seven, my parents sent me five-hundred miles from my home for months at a stretch I'm so glad that school no longer exists. How was this miracle accomplished? June Hunt, the host of Hope in the Night, gave me the answer back in 2003. It all stems from a proper understanding of forgiveness. The word originally meant to write off a debt. Since vengeance is the Lord's and he'll repay, we can hand over our assumed right to revenge to him. June told me to make a list of all the hurtful situations and list the names of those who wounded me emotionally. Then she said to go down the list and hand each hurt or person over to Christ to deal with. She cautioned that the pain would keep coming back but I would eventually be free of it. I did as she said and it worked. The memories and bad dreams don't trouble me anymore. Though I still think it was wrong for the Alberta government to convince Mom and Dad to send me so far from home for such long periods, the poignancy of the memories is greatly diminished. I've forgiven the people who exiled me to Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind but that doesn't mean that I now approve of what they did. Had I been given a strong magnifying glass and monocular, to view the blackboard with, I could have gone all the way through public school. I'm thankful that today's disabled students are educated along with their sighted peers. Segregating them into distant institutions is rarely done these days. Sight-impaired students now have access to computers and visual aids barely dreamt of when I was in school. I wrote about the time I was sent to that institution in a book called Deliverance from Jericho. Check it out on the left side of this page.

THE CURSE OF PETTY BUREAUCRATS.

If I hadn't been there myself, I would scarcely believe that adults in charge of disabled children could be so feckless and corrupt. Yet it did happen and I'm not the only one who witnessed the climate of inbred mistrust at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind. From a report by an anonymous supervisor at my dorm, here's his conclusion regarding the abuses of the public's trust which these individuals committed. ----------------------------------------------------------------- To conclude, these are the questions that we try to give an answer to, in order to console the Resident boys and girls who are so bewildered. The trampoline should not be used, as Mr. Freemantle was angry; the Bowling Alley has been closed because Mr. Armitage has said it must be closed; you must give 'your urine because Mr. Freemantle has said so, and it is wanted for some tests (one blind boy asked me whether this would mean that they were going to have an operation). What is the real reason for the snacks ending? Why has Mrs. Pearson got all the keys to the Tyler House Boys' lockers, when they should be in the hands of the appropriate Instructors? Why are the drawers of the boys gone through regularly when nobody is present or on duty? Why should the children be made to walk on the paths, though there are acres of available grass? WhY is there so much resistance in letting the kids go on regular camps? One of the reasons is that Mr. Bryce complains he's not the bus driver. ----------------------------------------------------------------- I wish I had this shocking report when I wrote my Deliverance from Jericho: Six Years in a Blind School memoir. It filled in many blanks and explained a large number of arbitrary decisions made by the administrators. Please check my book link for more information regarding my memoir of those times. You're welcome to e-mail me directly with your questions or comments.

A QUESTION OF QUESTIONABLE QUESTIONING.

Perhaps some folks will disagree with me but I believe having partial vision is, in many ways, worse than being totally blind. Fully sighted folks seem better able to comprehend total blindness better than poor vision.

Throughout my life, I've had to explain my level of vision. Neighbourhood kids, mimicking parents and other sighted adults, held up fingers and asked me to count them. I hated that. It made me feel like some sort of freak. They also threw stones at me while calling, "blindie, and "four eyes." No wonder I often played alone.

My school days were likewise filled with incidents where pupils and teachers felt uncertain about what I could or couldn't see. At first, I was allowed to draw pictures and play with plasticine because the teacher believed I couldn't possibly be taught anything. When I started learning aurally, she showed me off to the principal as if some sort of miracle happened.

My freedom came to an end in 1964 when a government agent convinced my parents to send me to Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind. They, never suspecting the institution's endemic sexual harassment of deaf children, sent me there for six long years. I only came home for Christmas, summer, and three Easters. Because the bar magnifying glasses they had there weren't of any help to me, somebody decided I should learn braille. I objected since I had enough vision to read with an eight power magnifying glass. My teachers soon gave up on me and let me read large print.

On September 16, 2011, I blogged about the pathetic vision aids that were provided to me by my parents in junior high and high school. My visual arts teacher gave me the first decent magnifying glass, a type similar to what jewellers use. Though some thug cut the combination lock on my locker and stole it, along with the monocular which I read the blackboard with, I managed to find similar visual aids through the Canadian National Institute for the Blind (CNIB).

I've also experienced similar challenges to my truthfulness in several workplaces and in personal relationships throughout my adult life. These are too numerous to mention here.

The crux of the matter is that people feel a sense of unease about me until I demonstrate how much or little I'm able to see. As I've explained in Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) and to a lesser extent in When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), I see well enough to get around but I can't see details. I have to go close to something to tell what it is. I've also learned that there are always work-arounds to my difficulties. As long as I can, I intend to live as independently as possible.