March to the beat of your own drum

I used to wonder why God made me the way I am. I used to wonder why He thought that I wasn’t worthy enough to be like everyone else. I used to wonder why He hated me.

I was only about two when my parents found out. They realized something was wrong with me because I never responded to anything visual. It took them a while to grasp the fact that I wasn’t a fan of Pick-A-Boo. So they took me to the doctor’s office where they learned that I suffered from a disease known as Cortical Visual Impairment, or CVI. In other words, I’m blind.

Growing up, I used to wonder why all my class mates thought I was weird. I used to wonder why they would steal my walking cane. Why wouldn’t they treat me like I was normal? It wasn’t until I got older that I realized that I wasn’t.

Once I hit adolescence, I stopped wondering why God made me blind. Instead, I wondered what I could do to make myself normal. I constantly struggled with my parents. I wanted to go out for sports. I wanted to play beep baseball, a form of baseball for the visually impaired. I had researched it on the internet and found that even people who were totally blind, like me, could play. But my arguments were to a deaf ear. I wondered why they stopped me from being normal. They told me that I should find something else that wasn’t as “dangerous” as baseball.

I gave up on convincing my parents to let me play baseball. I sank into a miserable mood. I stopped all my attempts to become normal. I no longer “watched” baseball; I stopped talking to my friends, who were all involved in some kind of sport. I stopped doing my school work. I saw no point. I was blind, what could I do? My school counselor, Mrs. Thomas called me in to discuss my “problem”. When I explained that I had no problem, she decided that I should go visit Mr. Penn, a music teacher at our school. When I say should, I mean that if I didn’t I’d be in her office a lot more than I would like. I wondered why she was trying to control me.

Two days later, I walked into the Fines Arts hallway at my school, a place that was completely foreign to me. As I entered the Music room, I heard someone playing the saxophone, a familiar tune that I couldn’t put my finger on. Because of my disability, I’m able to pick up pitches and beats easily. Whoever was playing was good. No not good, excellent.

“Mr. Andrew Parks, I presume?” said a voice. It was man, much older by the sound of him, probably about 50 years old.

“Yes sir. Are you Mr. Penn?” I responded. I wondered why Mrs. Thomas sent me here. How could this old man help me?

“I’m sure your wondering why you’re here. But we’ll get to that later. Do you play a musical instrument, Mr. Parks?” I could hear Mr. Penn walking around the room. He was not coming any closer to me, just aimlessly wondering. Obviously he didn’t think like all the shrinks my parents made me go to. Most of them used the “direct approach” technique.

“No sir.” I answered. The sooner I could get out of here the better. I still wondered why I had to be here in the first place. I didn’t see the point.

“Playing an instrument is one of the most exhilarating things a person can do. Sure, you can go sky diving, which I’m sure gives you a rush, but music is different. With music, you can explore different worlds without leaving your bedroom; you can voice your complaints for the world to hear. With music, you can leave everything behind for a moment and escape from life without leaving it completely behind. It’s a wonderful way to see the world differently.” He said.

“Yeah well, I really can’t see anything. If you haven’t noticed I’m blind!” What was wrong with Mrs. Thomas? Why did she send me to this crazy guy? What the heck could he teach me?

“Mr. Parks, do you honestly think that because you are visually impaired, you can not see? You do not need eyes to see the world. There are many people who have perfect vision that can not see the most obvious things before them. Seeing does not require eyes. Keep that in mind.” He was gradually moving closer, picking up little things as he moved along. I could hear him examine the objects and then place them back where they belonged. I wasn’t sure why put his lack of attention annoyed me.

“What do you know?” I snapped. “It’s not like you know anything about being blind! You don’t know what it’s like to be different!”

He laughed. He just stood there and laughed at me. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to leave. I wondered why I was still here. I didn’t need to hear someone mocking me. I’d had enough of that through out my childhood, thank you.

“I don’t know what it’s like to be different? On the contrary Mr. Parks, I know exactly what it is like. You see I’m more like you than you think. But we’ll get to that later.” I was getting a little tired of that statement.

“Mr. Parks come here please.” I silently moved forward.

“You think that no one understands you. You constantly wonder why God made you different. Understandable. You’re a teenager. But, are you aware that when God took away your eyesight, He also increased the sensitivity of your other senses?” I slowly nodded my head. Of course I knew this, the doctor’s have been telling me this since before I could remember.

“I’ve been told that you wanted to join a sports team. But I was also told that you only wanted to join to be apart of something that everyone else is apart of. Well, in my opinion, conformity is over rated. But never the less, I can help you with that. But not now. I must be off; I have a prior engagement with a friend of mine. Until tomorrow, Mr. Parks.” He said starting to make his way towards the door.

“Mr. Penn? What did you mean when you said you were like me?” I asked.

“I meant that I too require a cane when I walk. Good Day.” I stood in the doorway as he walked away. I wondered why no one had told me.

The next day, I made my way toward Mr. Penn’s classroom after school. I found him there waiting.

“Mr. Parks today I’m going to begin teaching you how to play the drums. Please take seat over here.” I moved forward and found myself sitting before a drum set.

“Now, the reason I picked the drums for you is because you are a young man who harbors resentment towards the world. You wonder why they all get to be the same and you have to be different. The drums are the universal instrument. In every culture, in every society, the drums are present. They are used for communication, they are used to vent out frustration. They are used in many different ways. But everyone uses them. And I think that you should stop wondering why you are different from everyone else. It’s time to embrace Andrew Parks, the blind sixteen year old. Now, it’s time to get to work.” He said, clapping his hands.

From that day on, I spent everyday after school learning how to play the drums from Mr. Penn. He taught me how to play well by just listening, how to copy his motions by feeling the air around me. He taught me to see through my drums. He showed me that being the same was not the important thing in life, but being who you are and expressing it is.

For two years I went to Robert Penn for lessons after school. My parents bought me a drum set and I joined a local band and we became one of the most popular local bands in the area. Even then I continued my lessons. Mr. Penn didn’t just teach me the drums; he taught me how to live through them. I now know exactly what a small little village in Africa looks like. I can see the tribal people of the Amazon. I can see the beauty of the Grand Canyon, just by listening to the way the water of the Colorado River smashes against the walls. I can see the world without seeing it. Ironic, because some can’t see the world, even when they see it. I wondered why no one had helped me see this before.

On my last day of high school, I came into Mr. Penn’s classroom to say goodbye. I was surprised to find that he was not waiting for me. I sat by my drums and began to pound out a song that I had written for my band. I was so distracted that I didn’t notice the door open behind me.

“Very nice, Mr. Parks. I’m surprised your here. Shouldn’t you be of defacing school property with your friends?” He laughed at this. He knew why I was here.

“I heard you’re retiring. Is it true?” I asked.

“Yes, Andrew it is true.” He responded with a sigh sitting down opposite of me.

“Why? There are all sorts of stupid brats like me that need guidance.” I wondered why he was leaving.

“Andrew, I promised myself that once I had helped one person find himself, I would retire to live a quiet life. And today I’ve finished helping someone.” Mr. Penn got up and moved toward his saxophone case.

“Ah yes, I have one thing left to teach you. Remember: It don’t mean a thing, if it ain’t got that swing!” He sang out before laughing. He picked up his saxophone and began to play the same tune he was playing when I first met him. I wondered why I never recognized it. I asked him if I would see him again and all he said was “We’ll get to that later.”

That was the last I saw of Robert Penn. When I came back to visit my family that Christmas, I learned he had passed away that September. I went to see the cemetery to see his grave stone. On it were the traditional name and date of birth and death, but underneath was something that was unique to Mr. Penn. It said “Conformity is over rated.”

I used to wonder why God made me the way I am. I used to wonder why He hated me so much that he made me blind. Now I realize, that what I should be wondering was why he loved me so much that he gave me the opportunity to truly see beauty, to truly see what was before me without visually seeing it. I wonder why God didn’t make everyone like me.