If You Give Me Three Days of Light: The Best Collection of Helen Keller

Chapter 3 My Life (1)
childhood light
It is with trepidation that I record the story of my life.Throughout my childhood, life seemed to hang over me like a golden mist.In my ignorance, I hesitated to uncover the mystery of life.Every time I want to recall my childhood memories, I will find that the past days are so natural, beautiful, real and intimate, and it is like a bond, closely connected with me at this moment.Women often describe their childhood experiences in imaginative ways.Although those fresh and vivid memories come from the first days of my life, the darkness of a prison cell will always accompany me for the rest of my life.Besides, the joys and sorrows of childhood are mostly a thing of the past, and have lost their sharpness; the momentous events of my early education have been forgotten with the great discoveries of greater excitement.So in this way, it is not a boring and meaningless thing to make a comprehensive summary of those very important chapters in my life.

I was born on June 1880, 6, in a small town called Tuscumbia in northern Alabama.

The ancestors of my father's family were the Caspar Keller family from Switzerland who originally settled in Maryland.Interestingly, one of my Swiss ancestors was a teacher at a school for the deaf in Zurich. He wrote a book about his teaching career, but who would have thought that he would have a deaf and dumb descendant like me? people.Every time I think of this, I can't help but sigh in my heart, the fate of people is really unpredictable.

My grandfather, a descendant of the Casper Keller family, came to and eventually settled in the vast, fertile land of Alabama.I later learned that one year my grandfather rode from Tuscumbia to Philadelphia in order to get some farming implements for the plantation.In the many family books sent by my aunt, there are many vivid descriptions of my grandfather's travels.

My grandmother was the daughter of an aide-de-camp named Alexander Moore; my grandmother's grandfather was the very first Colonial Governor of Virginia, Alexander Spotswood.

My father, Arthur Keller, was a captain in the Confederate Army, and my mother, Kate Adams, was his second wife, and they were very different in age.

I grew up living in a very small house until an illness robbed me of my sight and hearing.At that time, our house consisted of a large square room and a small room where the servants rested.This originates from the custom of the southerners to build an attached small house next to the house in case of emergency.The house was built by my father after the Civil War, and after he married my mother they settled here.The walls of the house are covered with vines, roses and honeysuckle. From a distance, our house looks like a huge gazebo.The little front porch was shaded by an eyeful of yellow roses and southern tuckahoe, so it was a favorite spot for the hummingbirds and bees.

The old house where my grandfather and grandmother lived was very close to our small rose arbor.The old house is surrounded by bushes and fences, and the fence is covered with beautiful English ivy, so we also call it "Ivy Green".It was my childhood paradise.

Before Mrs. Sullivan came to my house, I was used to groping along the square boxwood hedge every day.I let my sense of smell be my guide, and through it I discovered the first violets and lilies in my life.Every time I lose my temper, I come to this small garden, looking for things that can make me feel comfortable, and I bury my warm face in the cool leaves and grass.Losing myself among the flowers is such a pleasure, and finding one place to another gives me a lot of pleasure.Just in the process of searching, I would suddenly come across a beautiful vine, I would recognize its shape by its leaves and buds, and I would know that it was the vine covering the rickety arbor at the far end of the garden rattan!Clematis were all around me, within reach, jasmine hanging among the leaves, and a rare flower called a butterfly lily.Butterfly lily, as the name suggests, is named because its petals resemble the wings of a butterfly.And the most proud oiran in the garden is the rose.I have never seen such luxuriant roses in a greenhouse in the north. The flowers formed a long flower path along the porch, and the air was filled with a refreshing fragrance, which was not contaminated by the foul smell of the earth. .Every morning, bathed in dew, the roses are delicate and charming. At this time, I can't help thinking, are these roses the same as the evergreens in the garden of God?

Like many inconspicuous little lives, my life was simple and simple at the beginning, just like the first child of many ordinary people.It took a lot of effort for everyone in the family to come up with a name for me.My father suggested that I be named Mildred Campbell, after an ancestor whom he greatly venerated, and my father insisted on the name, refusing to discuss it further.My mother, on the other hand, said something else of her own accord. She thought I should be called Helen Everett, after my grandmother.Unexpectedly, on the way my family happily took me to the church for baptism, my father forgot the name I had chosen. This is actually very understandable, because it is a name that my father doesn’t like at all. How could he Take it to heart.So, when the pastor asked him, he panicked, but since it had already been decided that my name should follow my grandmother's surname, he named me Helen Adams.

My family told me that when I was still a baby, I showed a personality of not giving up.I try to imitate everything that other people do.When I was six months old, I could babble simple words like "hello".Another time I amazed the adults in the family by saying "tea, tea, tea" so clearly.Even after my illness, I still remember a word I learned in the first few months of my life - "water".When my condition became more and more serious and all language functions were lost, I could still pronounce the word "water" vaguely.

I heard from my family how I learned to walk when I was one year old.Once, my mother took me out of the tub after taking a bath and put me on her lap.At that time, the trees were whirling and the lights and shadows were swaying. I was attracted by the scene in front of me, so I broke free from my mother's legs and tried to chase the shadows on the ground.This sudden impulse cost me a terrible price. I fell heavily on the ground, crying and throwing myself into my mother's arms.

Such happy days did not last long.I've had but a short spring, full of robins and mockingbirds; a summer full of flowers and berries, and a golden autumn of dead leaves and twigs .After that, all the good things came to an abrupt end.

After the season had left its last gift at the feet of a hungry and ecstatic toddler, on a dreary February day, the disease closed my eyes and ears and threw me back into a newborn baby-like unconsciousness .The family called it Acute Obstruction of the Stomach and Brain.The doctors thought I was going to die, but as luck would have it, one morning the fever left me as suddenly as mysteriously as it had come.There was joy and peace in the house that morning, but no one, including the doctor, knew that I had lost sight and hearing.

To this day, I can still recall the scene when I was sick.What I especially remember is my mother's loving care, as she tried to comfort me through hours of restlessness and pain.I'd wake up in the middle of my sleep with great pain and bewilderment, and I'd try to move my eyes, but it was so dry and hot; I'd turn my head to the wall, where there had been an enchanting light, But all I could see was a dim blur, and it was getting darker every day.Apart from these short memories, nothing else remains.

In fact, these memories are dreamlike and unclear.Gradually, I became used to being surrounded by silence and darkness. At that time, I didn't realize that my life was different from others, until that day——the day when Teacher Sullivan came, she Guided me into the realm of spiritual freedom
In short, during the first nineteen months of my life I had glimpses of the world, and the memories of the vast fields, the bright skies, the tall trees and the fragrant flowers were forever after the darkness that followed. indelible.As the saying goes "If that day belongs to us, then everything that that day shows belongs to us".

childhood memory
Many things from my childhood are firmly in my mind. Although they are scattered and irrelevant to each other, they are so clear that they seem to be vivid in my memory. They have deepened my thinking about the silent, helpless and confused life.

I don't remember much of what happened during the first month of my illness.All I know is that I've sat on my mother's lap or clinged to her dress while she was doing chores.My hands can feel the shape of every object, and I can "see" every moving object, so I know many things.

Later, when I wanted to communicate with others, I started to make some simple movements.For example, shaking the head means "no", nodding means "ok"; pulling back means "come back", and pushing outward means "go".When I want to eat bread, I slice and butter the bread, and when I want my mother to make some ice cream for dinner, I stir and shudder, which means "cold".

My mother also managed to make me see a lot of things.When she wants me to get something for her, I understand right away and I run upstairs to get it or go to whatever else she tells me.In a lonely life like a dark night, I would like to thank my mother for helping me drive away the darkness in my life with her wisdom and selfless love, and let me feel the warmth and beauty of life.

I began to adapt to this life as I gradually understood the great test that I faced in the future.At the age of five, I learned to fold and put away clean clothes, and to recognize my own clothes among the ones that came in from the laundry room.In this way, I also know when my mother and aunt will be out.I always beg them to take me with them.When the guests come to the house as a guest, I will go up to say hello; when the guests leave, I will wave goodbye to them.

Once, some gentlemen invited my mother out, and I felt the shock of the closing doors and the sound of their departure.Suddenly a thought appeared in my mind, I ran upstairs quickly, put on the dress I would wear when going out, then stood in front of the mirror, and imitated others to apply oil to my head, Powder your face.When everything was "trimmed" I put a veil over my head so that my face and shoulders were buried in the folds of the veil.I didn't forget to tie a huge bow around my waist, which dangled behind me, almost touching the hem of the skirt.I went downstairs with this attire, and everyone laughed when they saw it.

I can't recall how I felt and when I first realized that I was different from others, but one thing is clear, that is, before Mrs. Sullivan came, I already knew that I was different.I noticed that my mother and my friends, unlike me, did not use gestures when doing things, but just talked with their mouths.Sometimes I'll stand between two adults talking and put my hand to their lips.I couldn't understand it, and was extremely annoyed.So I tried to move my lips and tried to imitate them, but in vain.So I was very angry, kicking and screaming, until I lost all strength, and then I stopped messing around.

At the time, I also knew that I was very surly and naughty, I remember hurting my nanny Ella, I kicked her.After the rage, I would feel a little bit of regret, but I don't remember if this feeling of guilt stopped my nonsense.

I have grown up with two faithful companions, one is Martha Washington, a little girl dressed up every day, she is the child of our cook; the other is Bella, she is a very good old dog. hound.Martha Washington could read my gestures, so I seldom had trouble communicating with her, and she always followed my orders.It makes me happy to call the shots in front of her.Under normal circumstances, she always accommodated my tyranny and authoritarianism, and would not risk confronting me head-on.I feel powerful and don't care about the consequences.

I am well aware of how disturbing my thoughts are, but I always go my own way, and I even threaten with teeth and nails to get what I want.We spend a lot of time in the kitchen kneading dough, making ice cream, grinding coffee beans, baking cakes, and feeding the hens and turkeys that congregate on the kitchen steps.These are very tame poultry, and they eat from my hand, and I feel their warm breath.

Once, a huge male turkey snatched a tomato out of my hand and ran away quickly.Inspired by this turkey, we ran to the kitchen and stole a cake, which the cook had just icing on, took the cake and hid by the woodpile and ate it all bit by bit .But I didn't expect that I got a bad stomach and got seriously ill because of it. I don't know if the turkey who took my tomato also received the same retribution.

The hobby of guinea fowls is to hide their nests in remote corners. One of my greatest joys in my childhood was to search for eggs in grass nests.When I wanted to find eggs, because I couldn't tell Martha Washington directly, I would make a fist and put them on the grass, which meant something was rolling in the grass, and Martha always understood my intention.With any luck we'd find a coop, but I never let Martha take the eggs home, I let her throw them on the floor and break them.

In addition, there are barns, stables, and yards where the cows are milked every morning and evening. These are the places where Martha and I like to stay every day.The milker would ask me to put my hands on the cow while he was milking the cow.In order to satisfy my curiosity, I often wring and pinch the cow so that I can have a deeper feeling.

It always makes me so happy when I'm getting ready for Christmas.Although I don't know what kind of festival the grown-ups are preparing, the scents that fill my room always make me very intoxicated, and the variety of food will make me and Martha Washington quiet.We both have our times when things don't go our way, but that doesn't stop us from enjoying the holidays in the slightest.The adults would allow the two of us to help them grind spices, pick raisins, or stir fillings with spoons.I also hung up my stockings like everyone else, and although no one had told me the story of Santa Claus at that time, I didn't know why I did it, but this ritual still interested me, because when I woke up Come, I can find the beloved gift in the stocking.

Martha Washington had the same hobby as I did, except for mischief.One hot afternoon in July, two children were sitting on the steps of the hallway. One was a black girl with playful bunches of corkscrew-like hair; the other was a white girl with long hair. Long blonde curly hair.The black kids were about six years old, and the white kids were two or three years old.That young child was a blind child—that child was me, and the other black child was Martha Washington.The two of us were busy cutting paper dolls, but after a while we got tired of the game, so we both started cutting leaves again, and we cut as many honeysuckle leaves as we could get our hands on.Then I turned my attention to Martha's corkscrew-like hair, which she resisted at first, but eventually gave in to.So we two took turns playing this game, I took the scissors and cut off one of her braids, and she took the scissors and cut off one of my curls.I thought, if my mother hadn't found out and stopped our game in time, my hair would have been cut off.

(End of this chapter)