The Christmas That CHANGED ME

My parents paid far more than they could afford for the greatest gift of my life

- Peter White

IT'S EIGHT O'CLOCK on Christmas and Uncle Tom says morning, he wants to listen to the news. My 11-year-old self is wondering why on earth grownups would be interested in the news when there are important things to be done, such as handing out presents. And then, while I am only half-listening to the radio broadcast, something weird happens: the boring newsreader begins talking about a Christmas message from the Vatican. Hadn't we heard that report earlier?

My older brother, Colin, figures out what’s happening. “Pete, Pete, it’s a tape recorder! We’ve got our tape recorder!”.

It finally dawns on me: uncle Tom and my dad recorded the news, and are playing it back now.

I think it’s quite rare to experience real excitement over a present. Children are as good as adults at knowing what is expected of them and simulating joyful surprise, even when they don’t feel it. But for me this was one of those rare moments when my insides gave an involuntary lurch and the world did a little somersault.

Colin and I had both been blind from birth. Now, in the late 1950s, exciting consumer goods were coming within reach of the not-sorich. At the special boarding school in Worcester in western England that Colin and I attended, reel-toreel tape recorders were definitely the gizmos of choice. For blind kids, they would trump cameras every time, especially with the rise of rock ’n’ roll. A recorder of your own was the height of aspiration. However, Colin—better informed and more realistic about family finances than I was—had no real expectations of getting one.