Haveyoueverbeenatseainadensefogwhenitseemedasifatangiblewhitedarknessshutyouin,andthegreatship,tenseandanxious,gropedherwaytowardtheshoreIwaslikethatshipbeforemyeducationbegan,onlyIhadnowayofknowinghowneartheharborwas.
ThemostimportantdayIrememberinallmylifeistheoneonwhichmyteacher,AnneMansfieldSullivan,cametome.IamfilledwithwonderwhenIconsidertheimmeasurablecontrastbetweenthetwoliveswhichitconnects.ItwasthethirdofMarch,1887,threemonthsbeforeIwassevenyearsold.
Ontheafternoonofthatexcitingday,Iguessedvaguelyfrommymother’ssignsandfromthehurryingtoandfrointhehousethatsomethingunusualwasabouttohappen,soIwenttothedoorandwaitedonthesteps.
Ifeltapproachingfootsteps.Ithoughtitwasmymotherandstretchedoutmyhand.Someonetookit,andthenIwascaughtupandheldcloseinthearmsofthepersonwhohadcometorevealallthingstome,and,moreimportantthanthat,toloveme.
Themorningaftermyteachercamesheledmeintoherroomandgavemeadoll.WhenIhadplayedwithitalittlewhile,MissSullivanslowlyspelledintomyhandtheword“d-o-l-l”.Iwasatonceinterestedinthisfingerplayandtriedtoimitateit.WhenIfinallysucceededinmakingtheletterscorrectlyIwasfilledwithchildishpleasureandpride.RunningdownstairstomymotherIheldupmyhandandmadethelettersfordoll.IdidnotknowthatIwasspellingawordoreventhatwordsexisted;Isimplymademyfingersgoinmonkey-likeimitation.InthedaysthatfollowedIlearnedtospellinthisuncomprehendingwaymanywords,amongthem,“pin”,“hat”,“cup”,andafewverbslike“sit”,“stand”and“walk”,butmyteacherhadbeenwithmeseveralweeksbeforeIunderstoodthateverythinghasaname.
OnedaywhileIwasplayingwithmynewdoll,MissSullivangavememyolddoll,too.Shethenspelled“d-o-l-l”andtriedtomakemeunderstandthat“d-o-l-l”appliedtoboth.Earlierintheday,wehadastruggleoverthetwowords“m-u-g”is“mug”and“w-a-t-e-r”is“water”,butIpersistedinmixingupthetwo.Ibecameimpatientand,seizingthenewdoll,Idasheditonthefloor,breakingitintopieces.Iwasnotsorryaftermyfitoftemper.Inthedark,stillworld,Ihadnostrongsentimentforanything.
Myteacherbroughtmemyhat,andIknewweweregoingoutintothewarmsunshine.Wewalkeddownthepathtothewell-house.Someonewasdrawingwater,andmyteacherplacedmyhandunderthespout.Asthecoolstreamgushedoveronehand,shespelledintotheotherwordwater,firstslowly,thenrapidly.Istoodstill;mywholeattentionwasfixeduponthemovementsofherfinger.SuddenlyIseemedtoremembersomethingIhadforgotten—athrillofreturningthought–andthemysteryoflanguagewasrevealedtome.Iknewthenthatthe“w-a-t-e-r”meantthatwonderfulcoolsomethingthatwasflowingovermyhand.Thatlivingwordawakenedmysoulandsetitfree.
Ileftthewell-houseeagertolearn.Everythinghadanameandeachnamegavebirthtoanewthought.Aswereturnedtothehouse,everyobjectwhichItouchedseemedtobefulloflife.ThatwasbecauseIsaweverythingwithastrange,newsightthathadcometome.OnenteringthedoorIrememberedthedollIhadbroken.Ifeltmywaytothefragmentsandtriedinvaintoputthemtogether.Thenmyeyeswerefilledwithtears,forIrealizedwhatIhaddone,andforthefirsttimeIfeltsorry.
Ilearnedalotofnewwordsthatday.ItwouldhavebeendifficulttofindahappierchildthanmewhenIlayinmysmallbedthatnightandthoughtofthejoysthatdayhadbroughttome,andforthefirsttimeIlongedforanewdaytocome.