There are those who assume that since I can’t see, I obviously also cannot hear. Very often people will converse with me at the top of their lungs, enunciating each word very carefully. Conversely, people will also whisper, assuming that since my eyes don’t work, my ears don’t either.

For example, when I go to the airport and ask the ticket agent for assistance to the plane, he or she will invariably go to the phone, call a passenger agent and whisper: “Hi, Jane, we’ve got a 76 here.” I have concluded that the word “blind” is not used for one of two reasons: either they fear that if the dread word is spoken, the ticket agent’s retina will immediately detach or they are reluctant to inform me of my condition of which I may not have been previously aware.

On the other hand, others know that of course I can hear, but believe that I can’t talk. Often, therefore, when my wife and I go out for dinner, a waiter or waitress will ask Kit if “he would like a drink” to which I respond that “indeed he would.”

This point was graphically driven home to me while we were in England. I had been given a year’s leave of absence from my law firm to study for a diploma in law degree at Oxford University. During the year I became ill and was hospitalized. Immediately after admission, I was wheeled down to the X-ray room. Just at the door sat an elderly woman-elderly I would judge from the sound of her voice. “What is his name?” the woman asked the orderly who had been wheeling me.

“What’s your name?” the orderly repeated to me. “Harold Krents,” I replied.

“Harold Krents,” he repeated.

“When was he born?”

“When were you born?”

“November 5, 1944,” I responded.

“November 5, 1944,” the orderly intoned.

This procedure continued for approximately five minutes at which point even my saint-like disposition deserted me. “Look,” I finally blurted out, “this is absolutely ridiculous. Okay, granted I can’t see, but it’s got to have become pretty clear to both of you that I don’t need an interpreter.”

“He says he doesn’t need an interpreter,” the orderly reported to the woman.

The toughest misconception of all is that because I can’t see, I can’t work. I was turned down by over forty law firms because of my blindness, even though my qualifications included a cum laude degree from my university and a good ranking in my law school class.

The attempt to find employment, the continuous frustration of being told that it was impossible for a blind person to practise law, the rejection letters, not based on my lack of ability but my disability, will always remain one of the most disillusioning experiences of my life.

Fortunately, this view of limitation and exclusion is beginning to change. The federal government has issued regulations that mandate equalemployment opportunities for the handicapped. By and large, the business community’s response to offering employment to the disabled has been enthusiastic.

I therefore look forward to the day, with the expectation that it is certain to come, when employers will view their handicapped workers as a little child did me years ago.

I was playing basketball with my father in our backyard according to procedures we had developed. My father would stand beneath the hoop, shout, and I would shoot over his head at the basket attached to our garage. Our next-door neighbour, aged five, wandered over into our yard with a playmate. “He’s blind,” our neighbour whispered to her friend in a voice that could be heard distinctly by Dad and me. Dad shot and missed; I did the same. Dad hit the rim; I missed entirely. Dad shot and missed the garage entirely. “Which one is blind?” whispered back the little friend.

I would hope that in the near future when a plant manager is touring the factory with the foreman and comes upon a handicapped and nonhandicapped person working together, his comment after watching them work will be, “Which one is disabled?”