To discover that your child has been diagnosed with Aniridia is upsetting and stressful. In 1964 it was devastating. Diagnosis: blindness, prognosis, no hope. I have read my recently deceased mothers diaries and her hopelessness, despair and unfounded guilt are etched on every page.
Two years later, pointing at a plane passing over our London back garden, brought my parents untold joy. I wasn’t blind!
Mainstream schooling followed. I learnt to ride a bike, ignoring frequent crashes, and played outdoors unsupervised, as most children did in the 1970s. I recall riding at top speed with a group of my friends to the park. My eyes just never registered with me in my childhood and my parents never over protected me.
Strangely, it wasn’t until senior comprehensive school in 1978 that my parents encountered prejudice, the like unheard of today. The teachers asked my parents to remove me as my eyes…
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