Too often we judge on incorrect assumptions. That which may appear as a weakness can reveal a hidden strength.
Regular readers know we are blessed with a miracle granddaughter who came to us with Down syndrome. Watching her navigate life “on the scenic route” has been a lesson in how patience and awareness enrich existence.
Recently, an old friend reminded me about a lesson in hidden strength I taught during my radio days. She was student teaching at Michigan School for the Blind. I was a rock jock at WVIC, the number one top-40 station in the Lansing market. She asked if she could bring her class for a tour and I quickly said, “Yes.”
She and her supervisor, along with a group of very excited, very blind kids crammed into our tiny production room with me.
I slid a second chair next to mine behind the control console and invited each student, in turn, to join me.
“Some people may tell you that not having sight is handicap.” We still used that word back then. “But I’m about to show you how being you, just as you are can be a huge advantage.”
I slid a set of headphones on the first student and guided her hands to the thick, circular volume controls, “Pots” we called them. We felt for the switches above that turned each channel on and off. I gave her a 45 rpm record and helped her find the turntable and tone arm to queue up the record. This involves spinning the disk until you hear the first sounds of the music in a tiny “queue speaker” and then reversing the spin a quarter of a turn.
Once we had that skill down, I slid a microphone in front of the girl. She could smell the coffee aroma on the foam cover and made us all laugh with a comment about how DJs must all have coffee breath.
“This microphone is connected to the pot you are feeling with your right hand,” I said. “Flipping the switch to the right turns it on. Spin the pot until the arrow indentation is just past the twelve o’clock point on your watch.”
She did it.
“Now do the same thing with the pot in your left hand.”
She did.
“When you throw the switch above that pot, the record will start in about two seconds. Listen to how loud it is and turn the volume down until the pot is at the ten o’clock position. Then, switch on the microphone, and say, ‘WVIC is my favorite radio station.’ I will record your DJ debut and give you a cassette you can take home and play for your family.”
Without any further direction, the young girl did exactly that, perfectly. The next student didn’t need me to repeat the instructions. He was already visualizing what I had told the first girl, intuitively felt for the volume controls, queued up his record without my help and flawlessly introduced the song… as did every other student in the class.
“Radio,” I said, “is all about ears and fingers. And you all have some of the best ears and fingers on earth. You can read with those fingers. I can’t. And you can hear nuances in sound that we have to work hard to teach most sighted people who want to be DJs, because they never had to develop those hidden strengths.”
“Think about every task you want to accomplish with these things in mind. You have already figured out more puzzles than most of us will attempt in a lifetime. Keep exploring. Keep learning. And you’ll find that those eyes other people thought you had to have are not as essential as everyone else thinks they are.”
My friend snaked an arm around my waist as we followed her class toward the exit. Back in high school, we were briefly an item. Our relationship had morphed into a sardonic sibling thing that we both thoroughly enjoyed. “My supervising instructor was blown away,” she whispered. “Maybe there is hope for you after all.”
Those kids became some of my biggest radio fans. I talked with them often on the hit lines afterward. They critiqued my technique with the precision of major market professionals. I wonder how they used their hidden strengths in later life.
Perhaps our hidden strength may be the ability to see the potential in every person we meet. It’s a strength we must nurture and practice.
All I knew back then was how good it felt when each kid succeeded… and how good I felt when my friend tweaked my nose with a finger as she glided out the front door. I couldn’t resist one last observation. “There’s hope for you, too.”
There was. She has had a stellar career as a teacher, is a brilliant researcher, has a PhD in special education, and fifty years later, she is guiding me toward resources to help our granddaughter find her hidden strengths.
What goes around, comes around. Queue up your own mythical 45, turn on the microphone and make your own magic. And if that voice inside your head tries to say you don’t have the ability, experience or potential to do something… find your hidden strength. And do it!
Regular readers know we are blessed with a miracle granddaughter who came to us with Down syndrome. Watching her navigate life “on the scenic route” has been a lesson in how patience and awareness enrich existence.
Recently, an old friend reminded me about a lesson in hidden strength I taught during my radio days. She was student teaching at Michigan School for the Blind. I was a rock jock at WVIC, the number one top-40 station in the Lansing market. She asked if she could bring her class for a tour and I quickly said, “Yes.”
She and her supervisor, along with a group of very excited, very blind kids crammed into our tiny production room with me.
I slid a second chair next to mine behind the control console and invited each student, in turn, to join me.
“Some people may tell you that not having sight is handicap.” We still used that word back then. “But I’m about to show you how being you, just as you are can be a huge advantage.”
I slid a set of headphones on the first student and guided her hands to the thick, circular volume controls, “Pots” we called them. We felt for the switches above that turned each channel on and off. I gave her a 45 rpm record and helped her find the turntable and tone arm to queue up the record. This involves spinning the disk until you hear the first sounds of the music in a tiny “queue speaker” and then reversing the spin a quarter of a turn.
Once we had that skill down, I slid a microphone in front of the girl. She could smell the coffee aroma on the foam cover and made us all laugh with a comment about how DJs must all have coffee breath.
“This microphone is connected to the pot you are feeling with your right hand,” I said. “Flipping the switch to the right turns it on. Spin the pot until the arrow indentation is just past the twelve o’clock point on your watch.”
She did it.
“Now do the same thing with the pot in your left hand.”
She did.
“When you throw the switch above that pot, the record will start in about two seconds. Listen to how loud it is and turn the volume down until the pot is at the ten o’clock position. Then, switch on the microphone, and say, ‘WVIC is my favorite radio station.’ I will record your DJ debut and give you a cassette you can take home and play for your family.”
Without any further direction, the young girl did exactly that, perfectly. The next student didn’t need me to repeat the instructions. He was already visualizing what I had told the first girl, intuitively felt for the volume controls, queued up his record without my help and flawlessly introduced the song… as did every other student in the class.
“Radio,” I said, “is all about ears and fingers. And you all have some of the best ears and fingers on earth. You can read with those fingers. I can’t. And you can hear nuances in sound that we have to work hard to teach most sighted people who want to be DJs, because they never had to develop those hidden strengths.”
“Think about every task you want to accomplish with these things in mind. You have already figured out more puzzles than most of us will attempt in a lifetime. Keep exploring. Keep learning. And you’ll find that those eyes other people thought you had to have are not as essential as everyone else thinks they are.”
My friend snaked an arm around my waist as we followed her class toward the exit. Back in high school, we were briefly an item. Our relationship had morphed into a sardonic sibling thing that we both thoroughly enjoyed. “My supervising instructor was blown away,” she whispered. “Maybe there is hope for you after all.”
Those kids became some of my biggest radio fans. I talked with them often on the hit lines afterward. They critiqued my technique with the precision of major market professionals. I wonder how they used their hidden strengths in later life.
Perhaps our hidden strength may be the ability to see the potential in every person we meet. It’s a strength we must nurture and practice.
All I knew back then was how good it felt when each kid succeeded… and how good I felt when my friend tweaked my nose with a finger as she glided out the front door. I couldn’t resist one last observation. “There’s hope for you, too.”
There was. She has had a stellar career as a teacher, is a brilliant researcher, has a PhD in special education, and fifty years later, she is guiding me toward resources to help our granddaughter find her hidden strengths.
What goes around, comes around. Queue up your own mythical 45, turn on the microphone and make your own magic. And if that voice inside your head tries to say you don’t have the ability, experience or potential to do something… find your hidden strength. And do it!
