Three Days to See By Helen Keller

Class 07 English

I, who cannot see, find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine.

In spring, I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud, the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter’s sleep. Occasionally, I am very fortunate; I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song.

At times, my heart cries out with longing to see all these things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight. And I have imagined what I should most like to see if I were given the use of my eyes, say, for just three days.

I should divide the period into three parts. On the first day, I should want to see the people whose kindness and companionship have made my life worth living. I do not know what it is to see into the heart of a friend through that ‘window of the soul’, the eye.

I can only ‘see’ through my fingertips the outline of a face. I can detect laughter, sorrow and other obvious emotions. I know my friends from the feel of their faces.

The next day I should arise with the dawn and see the thrilling miracle by which night is transformed into day. I should behold with awe the magnificent panorama of light with which the sun awakens the sleeping earth. This day I should devote to a hasty glimpse of the world, past and present. I should want to see the pageant of man’s progress, and so I should go to the museums. There my eyes would see the condensed history of the earth — animals and the races of men pictured in their native environment; gigantic carcasses of dinosaurs and mastodons that roamed the earth before man appeared, with his tiny stature and powerful brain, to conquer the animal kingdom.

The following morning, I should again greet the dawn, anxious to discover new delights, new revelations of beauty. Today, this third day, I shall spend in the workaday world, amid the haunts of men going about the business of life. The city becomes my destination.

First, I stand at a busy corner, merely looking at people, trying by sight of them to understand something of their daily lives. I see smiles, and I am happy. I see serious determination, and I am proud. I see suffering, and I am compassionate.

At midnight, permanent night would close in on me again. Naturally in those three short days I should not have seen all I wanted to see. Only when darkness had again descended upon me should I realise how much I had left unseen.

I who am blind can give one hint to those who can see: use your eyes as if tomorrow you would be stricken blind. And the same method can be applied to your other senses. Hear the music of voice, the song of a bird, the mighty strains of an orchestra, as if you would be stricken deaf tomorrow. Touch each object as if tomorrow your tactile sense would fail. Smell the perfume of flowers, taste with relish each morsel, as if tomorrow you could never smell and taste again. Make the
most of every sense; glory in all the facets of pleasure and beauty, which the world reveals to you through the several means of contact, which Nature provides. But of all the senses, I am sure that sight must be the most delightful.