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

Chapter 4 My Life (2)
My other playmate, Bella, our hound, was old and lazy, and preferred to sleep by the fireplace rather than play with me.So I tried to teach her my "sign language", but it was always unresponsive and absent-minded.Sometimes, too, he quivered with excitement and became eager to try, as dogs do when they target a bird.I don't know why Bella behaved like this, but I know she definitely didn't do what I asked.This frustrates me so much that my training sessions always end with a thumping of Bella.But Bella would not take it seriously, get up and stretch, then snort or snort once or twice contemptuously, and then run to the other side of the fireplace to lie down on the spot.For this reason, I feel very helpless, so I can only let go of Bella and go back to play with Martha.

I remember once, when I was playing, I accidentally wet the apron, so I spread the apron by the fireplace in the living room to bake.To speed up the roasting, I moved it closer to the fire so it just touched the embers.The apron burst into flames, flames surrounded me, and even my clothes were ignited.My panic-stricken uproar alarmed my old nurse, Vinnie, who rushed to my rescue and threw a blanket over me, so that I was almost smothered.Luckily it wasn't that big of a fire and she managed to put it out and I didn't have any serious burns other than a bit of burnt hands and hair.

It was around the same time that I found myself using keys.One morning, my mother went into the storage room to get something, and I locked her in. My mother kept knocking on the door, but because the servants were all out to work at that time, no one could open the door for her. I was forced to stay there for three hours.I could feel the knock on the door, but I was sitting on the porch steps giggling.These kinds of head-scratching pranks made my parents realize that I had to be educated as soon as possible.

I remember that after Teacher Sullivan arrived, I found an opportunity to lock her in my room.At that time, my mother took me upstairs to see Mrs. Sullivan. She wanted me to understand that she was going to hand me over to the teacher.But it wasn't long before I slammed the door and locked it.Then, I secretly hid the key in the closet in the corridor, but the family did not ask me to hand over the key.My father just moved a ladder and took Mrs. Sullivan out of the window.This prank kept me excited for a long time.I didn't hand over the keys to my father until several months later.

When we were five years old, we moved, from a small house covered in vines to a large new one.Living with us were my two older half-brothers, and my younger sister, Mildred, who was born later.My earliest and most vivid memory of my father is that of me staggering through stacks of newspapers to come to him and finding him always alone with a stack of newspapers in front of him.I would be extremely confused and wonder what he was doing.I also imitated his movements, and even put on his glasses, because I thought the glasses might help me unlock the unknown secrets.But after many years, I still haven't unlocked the secret.It wasn't until later that I learned where those papers came from—my father was a proofreader.

My father was a very family man, and he rarely left us unless it was hunting season.He is an excellent hunter and has a good marksmanship.Outside of family, what he loves most are his dogs and his shotgun.In addition, he is also an extremely hospitable person, which has almost become a weakness of his character, and he rarely does not bring guests home.The place he is most proud of is our big garden. It is said that the watermelons and strawberries he cultivated are the best in the county. I still remember that he always gave me the first ripe grapes to eat, and carefully Pick a variety of different berries.He took me for a walk among the fruit trees and vines with his warm and loving hands. His positive and optimistic attitude made my childhood warm and happy.

My father is a good storyteller. After I mastered the language, he would often spell words on my hands awkwardly, and use them to tell his anecdotes.After "telling" the story, he would let me "retell" it immediately, and he would be very happy when I "retelled" it.

In 1896, one of the most memorable years of my life, when I was living in the North, enjoying the last days of summer comfortably, it was then that I heard of my father's death.He died of a sudden illness, and after a short period of pain, he just left.My father's death gave me my first taste of grief and my first understanding of death.

After describing my father, how should I describe my mother?She was so close to me, and I loved her so much, that it was almost a faux pas for me to describe her in words.

For a long time, I saw my little sister as an intruder.At that time, I knew that I was no longer my mother's only baby, and my heart was full of jealousy.My younger sister always sits on my mother's lap, where I used to sit, but now it's her exclusive place, and she is loved by everyone.

One day, an unpleasant incident happened which made me feel extremely insulted.There was a doll I held in my arms all day long, and I named her Nancy.I have dolls that talk, and dolls that cry and blink, but I never love them the way I love my poor Nancy.But I wasn't always nice to Nancy, and in fact the doll would fall prey to my tantrums a lot of the time, so she was always in tatters.

Nancy had a cradle and I would often spend an hour or more rocking her in it.I watched over Nancy and her cradle with the utmost care.But once, I found my little sister sleeping peacefully in the cradle.I can only speculate now, when there were no bonds of love and affection to bind my anger.So, I rushed over and turned the cradle over. If my mother hadn't stepped forward and grabbed her, my sister might have fallen to her death, or more clearly, I would have killed her too.Therefore, when we walk in the valley that makes us feel deeply lonely, we will feel more deeply the words and deeds full of love and the touch of friendship.Later, when I regained the nature of human friendship, Mildred and I have grown into sisters who love each other.No matter what hardships and obstacles we encounter, we are willing to hold hands to face all the difficulties we encounter, even if she does not understand my sign language, and I do not understand her childlike language.

Ignite hope
As I grow older, I am more and more eager to express my wishes to the people around me. Obviously, the few simple gestures I use are far from enough. Whenever I cannot express my intentions, I will Panic.I felt as if invisible hands were grabbing me, and I was desperately trying to break free.In fact, my struggle was not all to solve the problem, but more to find a way out for the strong spirit of resistance deep in my heart.I usually cry a lot, and I'm exhausted physically and mentally.If my mother happened to be around, I would slip quietly into her arms.I was so sad that I forgot the reason for my anger.Later, this bad mood broke out every day, even every hour.It can be seen how urgent it is for me to communicate.

My parents were deeply in pain because of this.At that time, there were no schools for the blind or deaf near our house; Teach a wayward kid who is deaf and blind.In fact, my friends and relatives once doubted whether I could really get an education.My mother's only hope came from Dickens's American Notebooks, of which she had read the story of Laura Bridgman, and she vaguely remembered that the girl was also deaf and blind, but had received a formal education.But she also felt hopeless, because Dr. Howe, who pioneered the quest to teach the deaf and blind, had been dead for many years.And his educational methods may die with his death. If this is true, how can a deaf girl like me in a small town in Alabama be educated?

When I was six years old, my father heard about a famous ophthalmologist in Baltimore who had successfully treated many patients with serious eye diseases.So, my parents decided to take me to Baltimore to try my luck.

I still remember very clearly that it was a very pleasant trip.On the train, I met many different people and became friends with most of them.A lady gave me a box of shells.My father drilled holes so I could string the shells together, and I couldn't get enough of them for a long time.The train conductor is also a friendly person. When he walks around in the car and punches the passengers' tickets, I often grab his clothes and play.He also let me play with his hole punch, which is such an amazing and fun toy for a little kid.I would curl up in the corner of my seat for hours on end, punching holes in pieces of cardboard, and playing to my heart's content.

My aunt made me a big doll out of towels.This big rag doll is funny and strange, probably because the sewing time is too hasty. The doll has no nose, mouth, ears and eyes. It is impossible to piece together the whole face of the doll with a child's imagination.Although I didn't care about the other organs on the doll's head at all, I felt that the eyes should still be there. In fact, it was the absence of the doll's eyes that deeply touched me.I stubbornly pointed out my discovery, but no one seemed to be able to add eyes to the doll.However, thanks to my brainstorm, the problem was finally solved.I flipped out of the seat and groped until I found my aunt's shawl, which was decorated with large beads.I pulled out two beads and motioned to my aunt to help me sew them onto the doll.My aunt guessed what I meant. She put my hand over her eyes and asked me if that was the case. I nodded vigorously.As a result, the beads were sewn into place by my aunt. I was so happy that I held it and shook it all the time, but soon I lost all interest in the doll and threw it aside again.This trip is the longest time I have not lost my temper, because I encountered too many things during this period, which kept my mind and fingers busy, so I had no time to look around.

We finally arrived in Baltimore and saw Dr. Chesholm, who received us very warmly, but did nothing for me.He said to my father that I should now be educated rather than cured, and advised my father to consult Dr. Alexander Graham Bell of Washington, who could tell us about the quality of teachers in schools for the deaf and blind.Following the doctor's advice, we immediately went to Washington to see Dr. Bell.My father was full of doubts and felt uncertain about his future.And I didn't realize his pain at all, I just felt that the commuting on the road was a lot of fun.At that time, Dr. Bell had achieved great success and was deeply admired by the world.As soon as he saw me, he hugged me on his lap. Although I was only a child at the time, I immediately felt the kindness of Dr. Bell and his strong sympathy for me. Interested, in order to let me know, he kept tapping his pocket watch.He understood my gestures, and for that alone I liked him immediately.Little did I know at the time that this meeting opened a door for my future life, a door that allowed me to go from darkness to light, from loneliness to the mysterious and unknown door of friendship and caring.

Dr. Bell advised my father to write a letter to Mr. Ananos, the superintendent of the Perkins Institute for the Blind in Boston, heir to Dr. Howe's great career.I hope Mr. Ananos can help me find a good teacher who can teach me.My father wrote immediately.A few weeks later, Mr. Ananos returned an enthusiastic letter reassuring us that a teacher had been found for us.It was the summer of 1886, and Mrs. Sullivan came in March of the following year.

In this way, I walked out of Egypt and stood in front of Mount Sinai.A divine force touched my soul, which not only brought me light, but also allowed me to "see" many miracles.I seem to have heard the voice from the holy mountain: "Knowledge is fraternity, light, and wisdom."

Teacher Sullivan's Arrival

I will never forget the day my teacher, Anne Mansfield Sullivan, came to my house in my life.Looking back on the two completely different lives before and after, I have to be filled with emotion.I vividly remember that it was March 1887, 3, three months before I would be seven years old.

Standing on the porch that afternoon, I seemed to know somehow that something was going to happen.I saw people busy in the room, my mother made all kinds of busy gestures, and I quietly walked out of the room and sat on the steps.The afternoon sun penetrated the dense honeysuckle vines on the porch and warmly fell on my upturned face.My fingers can't help wandering among the familiar leaves and flower buds, and the new branches seem to be rushing to greet the spring in the south.I didn't know what was going to happen to me in the future. This feeling of annoyance and depression tormented me for several weeks, and a deep sense of helplessness surrounded me.

Have you ever dreamed of a sea covered in thick fog?A cloud of white mist completely blocked your sight, while the big ship you were on was groping forward without any certainty.how about you?Just waiting for the unknown to happen with a pounding heart?Before formal education, I was like that ship adrift in the mist, except that I had no compass and sounding line, and no way of knowing the distance to the port. "Light! Give me light!" This is a silent cry from the depths of my soul, and every moment I wish I could be bathed in the light of love.

Teacher Sullivan came, and I felt her approaching footsteps. I stretched out my hand, just like welcoming my mother.Someone grabbed my hand, and I was held tightly in her arms, and she was the one who came to reveal everything to me.But more importantly: She surrounded me with love.

The next morning, Teacher Sullivan led me to her room and gave me a doll.This doll is very commemorative. It was given to Teacher Sullivan by a blind child named Laura Bridgman from the Perkins Institute for the Blind. She also made clothes for the doll. I only learned about the doll later. of origin.At that time, I played with the doll in my hand for a while, and Mrs. Sullivan slowly spelled the word "doll" (doll) in my hand.I was immediately interested in this finger game and tried to imitate it.Finally, I spelled the word correctly and I couldn't contain my joy and pride.Later, I ran downstairs to my mother, and I held up my hand, and I spelled the word "doll" on it.At the time, I didn't know that what I was spelling was a word, I didn't even know that words existed, I just imitated them mischievously with my fingers.In fact, I didn't realize that everything had a name until I spent several weeks with the teacher.In the next few days, I learned a lot of words ignorantly, such as nouns like "pin, bat, cup" (needle, bat, cup), and some words like "sit, stand, walk" (sit, stand, walk) such verbs.

One day I was playing with my new rag doll and Ms. Sullivan put my old big broken doll in my lap and she taught me to spell "doll" and tried to make me understand that the two dolls Both are called "dolls".

Another time, we got into an argument between the words "mug" and "water."Teacher Sullivan explained to me that "water cup" is "water cup" and "water" is "water". The two are different things, but I am very stubborn and always confuse the two things.Teacher Sullivan felt very helpless, but she still took the trouble to teach me from the beginning.I grew impatient with her repeated repetitions, so I grabbed the new doll and slammed it on the floor.I felt the doll falling apart under my feet, and I felt very happy in my heart.No sadness, no guilt, my emotions just exploded, and I didn't love that doll anymore.Evidently, in the silent and dark world in which I live, there is no strong tenderness and affection.I felt Miss Sullivan sweep the stump of the doll to the fireplace.My unhappiness was relieved and I felt contented.Later, Teacher Sullivan brought me a hat and put it on. I knew that I was going to go outside to bask in the sun, which made me feel very happy.

(End of this chapter)