I lost my sight when I was four years old by falling off a box car in a freight yard in Atlantic City and landing on my head. Now I am thirty-two. I can vaguely remember the brightness of sunshine and what red color is. It would be wonderful to see again， but a calamity can do strange things to people.

It occurred to me the other day that I might not have come to love life as I do if I hadnt been blind. I believe in life now. I am not so sure that I would have believed in it so deeply， otherwise. I dont mean that I would prefer to go without my eyes. I simply mean that the loss of them made me appreciate the more what I had left.

Life， I believe， asks a continuous series of adjustments to reality. The more readily a person is able to make these adjustments， the more meaningful his own private world becomes. The adjustment is never easy. I was bewildered and afraid. But I was lucky. My parents and my teachers saw something in me—a potential to live， you might call it —which I didnt see， and they made me want to fight it out with blindness.

The hardest lesson I had to learn was to believe in myself. That was basic. If I hadnt been able to do that， I would have collapsed and become a chair rocker on the front porch for the rest of my life. When I say belief in myself I am not talking about simply the kind of self-confidence that helps me down an unfamiliar staircase alone. That is part of it. But I mean something bigger than that： an assurance that I am， despite imperfections， a real， positive person that somewhere in the sweeping， intricate pattern of people there is a special place where I can make myself fit.

It took me years to discover and strengthen this assurance. It had to start with the most elementary things. Once a man gave me an indoor baseball， I thought he was mocking me and I was hurt. “I cant use this，” I said. “Take it with you，” he urged me， “and roll it around.” The words stuck in my head. Then at Philadelphias Overbrook School for the Blind I invented a successful variation of baseball. We called it “Ground Ball”.

All my life I have set ahead of is a series of goals and then tried to reach them， one at a time. I had to learn my limitations. It was no good to try for something I knew at the start was wildly out of reach because that only invited the bitterness of failure. I would fail sometimes anyway but on the average I made progress. That is the power of believing in myself.

4歲那年在大西洋城，我從貨場(chǎng)一輛兩廂車(chē)上摔下來(lái)，頭先著地，造成了雙目失明?，F(xiàn)在我已經(jīng)32歲了。我還能依稀地記得陽(yáng)光是多么燦爛，紅色是多么鮮艷。如果能恢復(fù)視覺(jué)固然非常好，但災(zāi)難有時(shí)也能對(duì)人產(chǎn)生奇妙的作用。

有一天我突然想到，倘若不是盲人，我或許不會(huì)像現(xiàn)在這樣如此地?zé)釔?ài)生活?，F(xiàn)在的我相信生活，但我不能肯定如果我沒(méi)有失明，會(huì)不會(huì)像現(xiàn)在這樣對(duì)生活堅(jiān)信不移。我并不是說(shuō)我愿意成為盲人，我只是想說(shuō)失去視力使我更加珍惜自己的所有。

我認(rèn)為，生活要求人不斷地調(diào)整自我以適應(yīng)現(xiàn)實(shí)。人的調(diào)整能力越強(qiáng)，他的個(gè)人世界便會(huì)變得越有意義。調(diào)整決非易事。我曾感到茫然害怕，但我很幸運(yùn)，我的父母和老師在我身上發(fā)現(xiàn)了某種東西——可以稱之為生存的潛力吧——而我自己卻并不知道。是他們激勵(lì)我與失明拼搏到底。

我必須學(xué)會(huì)的最艱難的一課就是相信自己，這是最基本的。如果做不到這一點(diǎn)，我的人就會(huì)垮掉，然后坐在前門(mén)廊的搖椅中度過(guò)余生。我所說(shuō)的相信自己并不單純地指相信自己能獨(dú)自走下陌生的樓梯，那只是一方面。我指的是更重要的東西：是堅(jiān)信自己雖然有缺陷，卻是一個(gè)真正的有進(jìn)取心的人；堅(jiān)信在蕓蕓眾生錯(cuò)綜復(fù)雜的格局當(dāng)中，自有我可以安身立命的一席之地。

我花了很長(zhǎng)時(shí)間才堅(jiān)定了這一信念。這要從最簡(jiǎn)單的事做起。有一次一個(gè)人給我一個(gè)室內(nèi)玩的棒球，我以為他在嘲笑我，心里很難受?！拔彝娌涣诉@個(gè)?！蔽艺f(shuō)?！澳弥桑憧梢宰屗诘孛鏉L動(dòng)的。”他竭力勸我。他的話觸動(dòng)了我。隨后，在費(fèi)城的奧弗布魯克盲人學(xué)校，我發(fā)明了一種很受歡迎的棒球游戲，我們稱其為“地面球”。

我的一生中給自己樹(shù)立了一系列目標(biāo)，然后努力去完成，一次完成一個(gè)。我必須清楚自己的局限，若開(kāi)始就知道某個(gè)目標(biāo)根本達(dá)不到卻硬要去實(shí)現(xiàn)，那不會(huì)帶來(lái)任何好處，只會(huì)帶來(lái)失敗的苦果。我有時(shí)也會(huì)失敗，但一般來(lái)說(shuō)總會(huì)取得進(jìn)步。這就是相信自己帶來(lái)的力量。