Today my wife and I visited the Callahan School for the Deaf & Blind with our dog. We were running late. Our vehicle squealed into the parking lot on two wheels.
I applied deodorant in a timely manner, ate two fistfuls of Altoids, and made my way inside.
Marigold is my blind coonhound. She goes everywhere with me. We do everything together. I drive; she sleeps. I watch television; she sleeps. I work; she sleeps. I go out for tacos; she eats all the queso.
Mrs. Hess invited us to visit the school today, since many of the students can relate to Marigold.
We were buzzed in through the doors. I apologized for being late. Everyone told me it was no problem, which made me feel worse.
The first thing that struck me was how ordinary the school looked. Callahan looks just like any school in Anytown, U.S.A. Like every school you’ve seen a-million-and-six times before.
Same cinderblock walls. Same tight hallways. Same smell. Why do all schools smell the same?
But that’s just the surface appearance. Because
nothing about this place is common.
Mrs. Hess has been working here for a long time. She’s seen it all. She’s had students enter her classroom in need of tender care. She’s seen these children find their voice. She’s seen them kick butt and take names.
Callahan is a public elementary school, they get kids here from all walks. This place is a miniature snapshot of Mobile.
“Welcome to the most rewarding place on planet earth,” says Mrs. Hess, ushering us forward.
Marigold and I approached the library. There were teachers waiting nearby. Outside the door, a cluster of tiny walkers and guidance canes were parked together.
“They’re ready for you,” whispered one teacher.
The library was packed to the ceiling with kids, waiting for their late presenter. I was greeted with several little faces beaming at me as we entered. Children…