By Sheila Koenig

(Editor’s Note: This is the winner of the 2008 Metro Chapter essay contest. Sheila Koenig is first vice-president and a very active member of the Metro Chapter. She teaches 9th grade Language Arts at Southview Middle School in Edina, and received the 2007 Blind Educator of the Year award from the National Federation of the Blind.)

Standing in my kitchen surrounded by dirty dishes and stickiness, I wondered again why I had agreed to make lunch for 30 of my colleagues. It had all begun so innocently: a few of us chatting (perhaps over lunch) about how lovely it would be to share a meal once a week at work. For one half hour every week, the energetic middle schoolers would fade to the background as we teachers entered the lounge greeted by the smells of homemade chili, pasta, or special treats others had prepared. I had been enthusiastic then, anticipating the flavorful lunches and relaxing conversation of Lunch Bunch Wednesdays. In the excitement of the moment, however, I neglected to realize that the Wednesday would come that I would be the preparer of the lunch that others anticipated.

I stirred the five pounds of hamburger meat on the stove in front of me and took the taco seasoning out of the cupboard. I had decided that a taco bar would be a fun addition to the lunches we already had enjoyed. I could provide a variety of taco shells, toppings, salsas, and other condiments so that colleagues could create their own “perfect taco”. For dessert, I had made some chocolate chip cookies. Knowing that lunch for 30 would be difficult to transport on the bus (which is how I usually get to work), I had decided that taking a cab would be much more realistic.  

Although it is stressful planning the menu and preparing such a large quantity of food, I never doubted that I could do it. I owe that confidence to my training at Blindness: Learning in New Dimensions (BLIND) Incorporated since one of our graduation requirements was to prepare a meal for 40. Vividly I recall the chaos of “the large meal” in which all items were homemade. Rolling out the pizza dough, smearing on the pizza sauce, and layering the pizzas with toppings are all memories that make me smile. But even more vividly than this, I recall labeling the ovens. You see, I had many kinds of pizza that I would be serving to my guests, and somehow, I would need to keep track of which pizzas had which toppings. In order to do this, I labeled the ovens with dymo tape. PP stood for pepperoni, S for sausage, and C for cheese. I remember frantically scurrying around the kitchen, transferring pizzas from oven to serving counter, keeping them all in their proper places. By the end of the meal, I was exhausted and worked hard to clean the kitchen. When I returned to BLIND Incorporated one year later to work the Buddy Program, the home-management instructor told me again how proud of me she was for undertaking that meal. She also told me how hard she laughed when six months after my meal she noticed a PP label still on one of the ovens.

The twenty-year celebration of BLIND Incorporated is now upon us, and it truly is momentous to recall the skills and confidence I gained from this program. I also know that there are countless others whose lives have been brightened by the months they spent learning alternative techniques. Where would we be without such a program to challenge our capabilities and stretch our expectations? Probably, without BLIND Incorporated I would not be preparing lunch for 30 of my colleagues. Likely, I would not have shined with confidence at job interviews and convinced employers to take a chance on hiring a teacher who is blind. Certainly, the dirty dishes and stickiness are emblems of the pride I feel in my accomplishments.