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

Chapter 8 My Life (6)
The blizzard raged for three days before it stopped.The sun shines through the clouds on the rolling white fields, the tall snow hills are amazing and spread out in all directions.People stepped on the snow on a path.Although I put on my cloak and hood, the cold air burned my cheeks as soon as I stepped outside.

In the deep snow, we walked while exploring.Finally, we came to the pine forest on the outskirts of the ranch.The pine tree stands motionlessly, its snow-covered tree body is like fluffy unprocessed marble, there is no smell of pine needles in the forest, the sun shines on the forest, as long as you touch it lightly, the small branches The snow is falling like a rain of jewels.The crystal clear light was so blinding that it even penetrated the darkness covering my eyes.

Gradually, the snow began to melt.Before another storm came, I could barely feel the harsh winter ground beneath my feet.During this short moment of tranquility, the trees discarded their ice coats, and the reeds and bushes showed their figures, becoming dry and yellow. Only the icy lake under the sun was bright and quiet, showing the beauty of winter.

Back then, our favorite pastime was sledding.Some places on the lakeshore were very steep, so we slid directly onto the lake from the big slope; after everyone got on the sled, a little boy would push hard from behind, and we slid out!The sled rushed through the snow, over the hollows, and rushed towards the center of the lake.Finally, we will cross the glistening ice to the opposite shore.What a fun, crazy game this is!I remember once, in that wild and exciting moment, the protective chain on the sled snapped, so our hands were tightly held together, and with the gust of wind in our ears, we felt like we were flying on the clouds gods!Flying against the wind, fluttering like a celestial being.

learn to speak
In the spring of 1890, I began to learn to speak.In fact, I had an urge to speak up very early on, and this urge has only grown stronger.I often make noises and put a hand on my throat while others feel the movement of my lips with their hands.I'm incredibly satisfied with whatever sound I make.

When someone is singing, I put my hand on his throat to feel the vibration, and when someone is playing, I put my hand on the piano that is playing.I also like to touch the mouths of kittens and puppies to feel their "meow meow meow" humming or cheerful barking.

I was babbling fast before I lost my sight and hearing, but after I got sick I stopped talking.At that time, I sat on my mother's lap all day, and put my hand on her face, and I was very interested in the movement of her lips.I also moved my lips like hers, and I could make many sounds and vague words.Of course, these sounds do not contain a communicative component, it just shows my instinctive need to practice using the vocal organs.

I still remember the process of learning the word "water", at first, I always pronounced "wa" "wa".Obviously, this pronunciation is incomprehensible to others.Until Mrs. Sullivan taught me how to spell with fingers, I gave up the way of communicating with pronunciation.

Because I've always known that other people communicate differently than I do.At the same time, I also knew that a deaf child could learn to speak, so I was dissatisfied with the means of communication I already had.A person who relies entirely on handwritten letters to communicate always feels limited.This frustration both made me extremely annoyed and made me realize that I should fix my communication gap as soon as possible.

My thoughts are getting higher and higher, like a bird flying against the wind, I insist on pronouncing with my lips.Although my friends tried their best to stop my enthusiasm, they were afraid that I would be hit hard if I failed to speak.But I was unwavering, and my conviction was strengthened when I heard the story of Ragenhilde Katta.

It was 1890, and one of Lola Bridgman's teachers, Mrs. Ramson, had just returned from a visit to Norway and Sweden, and she stopped by to see me.She told me the story of Ragenhilde Katha.Ragenhilde Kata is a deaf and blind Norwegian girl who has now successfully learned to speak.Before Mrs. Ramson had finished telling the girl's story, my fire of hope was kindled.I made up my mind to learn how to speak.So, with the advice and assistance of my friends, Mrs. Sullivan sent me to Miss Sarah Fuller, who was the headmaster of Horace Mann's school.This sweet lady was willing to teach me the lessons herself.

I will always remember March 1890, 3, the day we officially started classes.Miss Fuller's method of teaching was this: She placed my hand lightly on her face so that I could feel the position of her tongue and lips when she pronounced the words.I eagerly imitated every mouth shape of the teacher, and in just one hour, I learned the pronunciation of six letters: M, P, A, S, T, I.Miss Fuller gave me eleven lessons in all, and I still remember the surprise and joy of uttering the first words, "It's warm."Of course, this sentence is stammered, but it is indeed human language.In the depths of my soul, I sensed a newfound strength that had broken free of some kind of bondage.

If a deaf-mute child is eager to speak words he has never heard before, to get out of the dead silent world, to get rid of the life without love and warmth, without insects and birds, and without beautiful music, he will How can I never forget that when he uttered the first word in his life, the feeling of ecstasy that flowed through his whole body like an electric current.I think only such a person can understand the joy I feel when I can speak.I talk to my toys, rocks, trees, birds, and dumb animals with a grateful heart.

Later, when Mildred I summoned came to me, or a dog I commanded did the right thing, I couldn't express the emotion I felt.Of course, this is something.But for me, being able to say what I want to say quickly without having to translate it is truly an unspeakable gift.

However, it is impossible to master the speaking skills completely in such a short period of time.In fact, I just mastered the elements of speech.Although Miss Fuller and Mrs. Sullivan understood what I said, most people didn't know what I was talking about. They might not be able to understand a word if I said a hundred words.This is of course not a real language, which means that after I have learned these elements, the rest of the skills are left to my own groping and practice.

I would like to thank Mrs. Sullivan for her genius and her tireless dedication, otherwise, I would not be able to make progress in learning to speak.

In order for my closest friends to understand what I said, first, I must strengthen my practice day and night; second, I need the continuous help of Mrs. Sullivan, that is, let her correct every pronunciation for me, and then Then combine all the syllables in a thousand ways.To this day, she still reminds me of mispronunciation in daily communication.

All the teachers at the school for the deaf knew what this meant and they applauded the courage.In the reading class, I only rely on my fingers to feel the movement of the teacher's lips: I use touch to sense the vibration of the throat, the opening of the mouth and the expression on the teacher's face.In general, the way touch always goes wrong.So I just force myself to repeat words or sentences over and over, sometimes for hours, until the pronunciation is correct.My homework is practice, practice, practice.Feelings of discouragement and weariness plagued me at times, but the thought of going home and showing my family the progress I had made gave me a boost of confidence.I long for that moment when I share my learning with my family.

"My little sister will understand me." Especially this sentence, let me persist in the belief beyond any learning obstacles.I used to repeat in ecstasy: "I'm not dumb anymore." I would predictably enjoy talking to my mother, I could read her words by touching her lips, and I would no longer feel depressed or disappointed.Also, I was surprised to find that verbal communication is easier than spelling with fingers.So, I will give up the means of communication using the sign language alphabet.But Mrs. Sullivan and a few friends still speak to me by finger spelling, because it is much more convenient and quicker for me than lip reading.

Having said that, I would like to explain the sign language alphabet used by us blind people by the way, because it confuses many people who do not understand us.If a person wanted to read to me or talk to me, he would use the sign language alphabet used by the deaf.I will place my hand lightly on the speaker's, and my movements will be so light that they do not impede any movement of the speaker.The hand is very sensitive to changes in position, as if it had eyes.So, when you "read" for me, I don't feel that I can discern the letters slower than you can see them.Long-term training makes the fingers extremely flexible.Some of my friends spell very quickly, like a master at a typewriter, without knowing it.

When I was able to speak, I couldn't wait to rush home.Finally, the day came, and I embarked on a journey home.Along the way, I kept talking to Mrs. Sullivan.Of course, this is not for pure communication, but to improve my speaking level, I insist on practicing until the last moment.Before I knew it, the train had stopped at the station in Tuscumbia, and the whole family stood on the platform to welcome me.There are tears in my eyes, I will always remember how my mother hugged me tightly in her arms, she was so excited that she couldn't speak, and listened carefully to every syllable I uttered; I will always remember my little sister Mild Ryder grabbed my hand and kissed and danced; I will always remember my father's long silence expressing his love and pride.I believe that the scene of our meeting is just like the prophecy in the Book of Isaiah: "The mountains and the hills will sing together before you, and the trees will clap their hands and shout for joy." I believe this prophecy has been fulfilled in me.

The Frozen King event

In the winter of 1892, my always bright mood was covered by a dark cloud, and joy abandoned me.For a long, long time, I lived with doubts, anxieties, and fears.Books lost their appeal to me, and to this day I still have a lingering fear of those dreadful days.

The thing is, I wrote a little story called "The Ice King," and I sent it to Mr. Ananos at the Perkins Institute for the Blind, and that story was the source of the trouble.In order to explain the facts clearly, I have to start slowly from the beginning, so as to get back the respect and affirmation that Teacher Sullivan and I deserve.

I wrote this story at home the autumn after I learned to speak.At the time, we were staying at Fern Quarry and we were going to bed much later than usual.Teacher Sullivan described to me the beautiful and colorful leaves in late autumn, and her story seemed to awaken my sleeping memory of a certain story.I must have read this story, and I must have remembered it unconsciously.So I thought, I'm going to write a story too.Write as you speak, and all kinds of thoughts spew out from your mind.I discovered the joy of the creative process and experienced the joy of writing.

The living words flowed freely under my fingertips, and I wrote sentence after sentence on my braille board.Altered words and a fertile imagination became readily available, evidently proving that they were not the product of my own thoughts, but at best bits and pieces that had been abandoned by my mind.At that time, I devoured everything I read, never giving a thought to the book itself.Even now, I can't quite draw the line between my thoughts and the books I read.I think this is because I can only "see" the world through the eyes of others, and this has caused me to accept too much what other people see and hear, but lack the status quo of my own thinking.

As soon as the story was written, I immediately told it to the teacher.I clearly remember the scene of being intoxicated at the time, and of course the annoyance when the teacher corrected the pronunciation of the word.At dinner, I read the story to the whole family.They were amazed at how well I wrote it, and some even asked me if I wrote it myself, if I read it from another book.

Such doubts startled and disgusted me, since I don't recall anyone ever reading such a story to me.I clarified aloud, "Oh no, this is my own story, a story I wrote for Mr. Ananos."

In the end I got the whole story together and sent it to Mr. Ananos as a birthday present.Someone suggested that I should change the title from "The Ice King" to "Autumn Leaves", but I insisted on using my own title.I personally delivered this little story to the post office.Along the way, I was very happy, as if I was walking in the clouds.At that time, I had no idea how much I would pay for this well-prepared birthday present.

Mr. Ananos liked my "The Frozen King" so much that he included it in a publication of the Perkins Institute for the Blind.Suffice it to say, this pushed me to the apex of happiness, but moments later, I was plummeting from the clouds to the ground.Not long after I got back to Boston, someone found a similar story to "The Frozen King," called "The Snow Fairy," by Miss Margaret Kenby.This story is from a book called "Brady and Friends," which was published long before I was born.

The two stories are very similar in terms of ideas and language, that is to say, my story is a plagiarism.At first I found it difficult to understand, but when I figured it out, I was shocked and saddened.No child has ever drank so much bitter water as I have.I feel ashamed.I am suspicious of those I love most.But how did all this happen?I searched and ruminated until I got tired of recalling anything I'd read about the forest.And before I wrote "The Ice King", I don't remember seeing any stories about ice and snow.I just remember that Jack Frost wrote a poem for children called "Winter Whimsy", which probably has something to do with ice and snow, but I didn't quote this poem.

Although Mr. Ananos was deeply troubled, he still believed in me at the beginning, and I am very grateful to him.I thought it was just a short-term haze that would dissipate soon, but who knows that things are still getting worse.

I hid my displeasure as best I could to please Mr. Ananos, and shortly after I received the bad news, I attended Washington's birthday celebrations with the utmost grace.

In a masquerade organized by my companions, I played Thrace, the goddess of corn.My body is wrapped in rich fabrics, my head is twined with bright autumn leaves, my hands and feet are covered with fruits and grains; Deep down is full of sadness.

The night before the celebration, a teacher at the academy asked me a question about The Frozen King.I told her that Miss Sullivan had introduced me to Jack Frost and his wonderful poetry.I think some of the things I said made her unrealistic, because she "perceived" my memory of Miss Canby's "The Snow Fairy" from it, and even thought that I confessed my fault.Although I repeatedly reiterated that she was wrong, she submitted her conclusions to Mr. Ananos.

So good Mr. Ananos thought that I had deceived him, and turned a deaf ear to the defense of innocence made by me and Mr. Sullivan.He believed, or at least suspected, that Mr. Sullivan and I deliberately stole the essence of other people's ideas and used them as a tool to win their admiration.I was also questioned by a court of inquiry made up of teachers and officials of the college, while Mrs Sullivan was told to recuse herself.

I was interrogated repeatedly by the investigative court, and they seemed determined to judge me as having read "The Snow Fairy".I think every question that raises doubts is their subjective assumption.At the same time, I also felt that a close friend was looking at me reproachfully, but I couldn't put these feelings into words.I want to express the grievance in my heart, but I can't say a word except for a few simple syllables.Even my consciousness began to slacken, and I felt dizzy like never before.

Finally, I was allowed to leave the room. It was comforting that Mrs. Sullivan gave me a warm hug, and my friends encouraged me that I was a brave girl and they were proud of me.Unfortunately, I was so dizzy at the time that I didn't pay attention to the teacher's hug and the kind words of comfort from my friends.

(End of this chapter)