Touch of Paradise

01/04/2026

He signed the contract with shaking hands, knowing the numbers were an insult. The network paid him less than half of his white co-star and justified it with a sentence he never forgot: “We don’t think America is ready for a Black lead in prime time.” Sherman Hemsley closed the folder, inhaled, and said quietly, “I’ll show you what they’re ready for.”
Before the bright lights, before the applause, before the unmistakable George Jefferson strut entered American culture, Hemsley was sorting envelopes at the Philadelphia Post Office. The building hummed at night — machines clattering, carts rattling, the air thick with exhaustion — and somewhere in the middle of it was a small, soft-spoken man rehearsing lines under his breath. After work, he ran to tiny theatres where the dressing rooms were so cramped the actors used bathroom stalls instead.
“You changed where you could,” one of his castmates said. “Sherman never complained. He wanted the stage more than comfort.”
He lived for the theatre. That was where Norman Lear found him: on a bare New York stage performing in Purlie, sweat shining on his forehead, voice shaking the rafters. Lear walked backstage afterward and said, “I need you on All in the Family. I’ve written a part for you.” Hemsley smiled politely — then said no. He didn’t want to leave his cast mid-run.
Lear later said, “I had never chased an actor like that in my life.” He flew back to New York, waited by the stage door, and told Hemsley, “I’ll hold the role until you’re ready.” No one in television had ever done such a thing. Hemsley later joked, “I think he thought I’d escape through the window.”
Years later, when The Jeffersons spun off in 1975, CBS executives panicked. A Black businessman with success, pride, and a temper? A man who wasn’t grateful or soft or deferential? They wanted George Jefferson to be “safer.” One executive even asked, “Can we tone down the ambition? He’s too confident.”
Hemsley refused, gently but firmly. “Confidence isn’t arrogance,” he said. “It’s survival.”
On set, he fought for the truth of the character. Script pages arrived softened, words trimmed to make George “less sharp.” Hemsley would tap the table and say, “This isn’t how he talks. This isn’t how we talk.” His castmates remembered that he never raised his voice — he didn’t need to. His conviction filled the room. Isabel Sanford once said, “When Sherman believed in a moment, you couldn’t move him. He was a quiet storm.”
But he also felt the pressure. America wasn’t used to watching a Black man own multiple dry-cleaning stores on television. The critics waited for him to fail. Network executives held their breath. Hemsley carried all of it — the weight of expectation, the silent racism, the responsibility to get it right.
And still, he walked onto stage every week and delivered fire.
When he strutted across the living room set, chin high, arms swinging in that iconic, unstoppable rhythm, he wasn’t just acting. He was announcing something. “We’re moving on up,” the theme song said — and it was more than a lyric. It was a declaration. A permission slip. A mirror for the millions watching who had never seen themselves celebrated like that before.
Behind the scenes, he was nothing like George. No fancy parties. No Hollywood extravagance. He lived quietly in a modest Los Angeles home decorated with framed theatre posters. Neighbors often saw him practicing dance steps in his living room, counting under his breath.
“He wanted every movement perfect,” a coworker said. “Not for fame — for dignity.”
He never complained about the contract that undervalued him. He didn’t fight for headlines or attention. He fought for honesty in every scene. “I’m not here to be famous,” he once told a producer. “I’m here to be true.” Off-camera he read scripts alone, circling lines he wanted to protect. He was introverted, even shy, and would vanish backstage the moment a taping ended. “Sherman was the only star who could disappear while standing right next to you,” a writer joked.
And America loved him. Loved him more than the network ever predicted. By season two, The Jeffersons crushed ratings. By season five, it had become a cultural anchor. Teenagers copied the George Jefferson walk in school hallways. Adults quoted his one-liners at work. Critics admitted, sometimes grudgingly, that Hemsley had reshaped what a television character could be.
Norman Lear once said, “Sherman didn’t just play George. He invented him.”
Another writer put it more simply: “He made us rethink what America looks like.”
Years later, when asked how he stayed steady through the pressure, Hemsley shrugged and said, “I just tried to make him honest. People can feel honesty.”
That was the core of him. Gentle man. Fierce talent. Deep soul.
He didn’t chase history — he carried it without asking for applause.
Sherman Hemsley didn’t just play a groundbreaking character.
He broke the ground, stood on it, and forced television to widen the world around him — whether the industry was ready or not.

12/10/2025

If you are sighted, I’d love to invite you to read this. These simple tips make a real difference for those of us who are blind or have low vision and these tips cost nothing. When you do these small things, you help create safety, dignity, and true human connection.

Please use your voice.
As you approach us, identify yourself. A simple, “Hello, I’m Tammy, would you like help crossing the street?” allows us to connect with you in ways we cannot do visually. Hearing your name gives us a point of reference and helps us feel oriented.

If you know our name, please use it.
When someone says, “Hi Gina,” I know for sure you are speaking to me. Without using our name, we often can’t tell when someone is speaking if it is meant for us or for someone else nearby.

If you can add who you are, that is also very helpful.
When you say, “Hi Gina, it’s me Kris, from. …….” we then know you’re speaking to us and we know who we’re speaking with. We can’t see name tags, uniforms, or facial expressions, so your words become our visual information.

Please tell us when you’re leaving.
This one is huge. If you need to go, simply say, “I’ve got to go,” or “See you later.” It’s incredibly uncomfortable and embarrassing to keep talking, only to realize you walked away and we were speaking to no one.

Please understand that voice recognition isn’t always easy.
Even familiar voices can be hard to identify without visual cues. Busy environments make it even harder. Traffic, conversations, children playing, radios and background noise can all make it difficult to pick your voice out of the soundscape.

Please don’t turn our interaction into a guessing game. It might seem playful, but for us it can be confusing, uncomfortable, and exhausting. We really appreciate clear, direct communication rather than being asked to guess who is speaking or what’s happening.

Silence around us can feel unsettling or even frightening.
When someone stands nearby and says nothing, we may not see your body language or facial expressions. We do not know your intentions. Imagine standing in thick fog, sensing someone is there, but not knowing their next move. Your voice brings safety and clarity.

Your verbal “hello” matters.
We can’t see your smile, wave, or nod. When you say “Hello,” we receive it as that same friendly gesture that sighted people exchange all day long.

If we don’t respond, please try again.
Get our attention, say our name if you know it, or simply say “Hi.” We would truly love the chance to connect and say hello back.

Please never grab us, our white cane, or a guide dog’s harness.
This happens far more often than people realize. Being grabbed by a stranger is frightening for anyone. It can cause injury, disorientation, and it interferes with our ability to safely use our cane. If you want to help, ask first and follow our instructions.

Please see us as people first.
Instead of asking us very personal questions like “What caused your blindness?” try questions you would ask anyone. “What do you enjoy doing?” “Where have you travelled?” Or even, “How are you finding accessibility?” These are meaningful, respectful ways to connect.

Every person who is blind or has low vision is different, even if a diagnosis is the same. Please don’t group us together. Get to know us as individuals. We each have different strengths, confidence levels, preferences, supports, and experiences. Our differences are simply that, differences and that’s what makes all of us human.

These small actions take seconds, cost nothing, and can change someone’s entire experience of the world.

“Having a disability does not change who we are, it changes our interactions with the world!”-Gina Martin

Diverse Abilities Programs Inc., offers training in respectful interactions with those of us living with disabilities. Check out our programs DiverseAbilities.ca



Photo description
Gina is standing on a path, in a park. Purple spring flowers are in bloom in the tall grass on both sides of the path. Sunshine is shining through the many trees behind her. Gina is wearing a brown top, black jeans and sunglasses while holding her long white cane.

09/24/2025

Four candles burned quietly in the room, their wax slowly melting away. The silence was so deep, you could almost hear them whispering to each other.

The first candle said:
“I am Peace. Sadly, people don’t know how to hold on to me. I don’t see any reason to keep burning.”
And with that, its flame went out.

The second candle softly murmured:
“I am Faith. But it seems no one needs me anymore. People don’t care to hear about me, so what’s the point of staying lit?”
A small draft blew through the room, and Faith’s light was gone.

The third candle sighed:
“I am Love. I don’t have the strength to keep my flame alive. People don’t value me anymore, they don’t understand me. Too often, they even hurt the very ones who love them most—including their own families.”
And Love, too, went dark.

Just then, a little boy walked into the room. He saw the three extinguished candles and cried out in fear:
“What are you doing? You’re supposed to stay lit—I’m scared of the dark!”

But then the fourth candle spoke gently:
“Don’t be afraid, and don’t cry. As long as I’m still burning, the other candles can always be relit. For I am Hope.”

And so, may the flame of Hope always burn bright in your soul. ✨

09/24/2025

08/29/2025

During one lecture, a professor suddenly picked up a glass of water and held it up. He stood there quietly, just holding it, as the students began to glance at each other, waiting for an explanation. Ten minutes passed, and he still didn’t lower his arm.

Finally, he asked:
“Tell me, how much do you think this glass weighs?”

The students started guessing:
“Maybe a couple of ounces!”
“Four ounces!”
“Five!”

The professor smiled.
“Honestly, I don’t know either. To find out, we’d have to weigh it. But that’s not the real question. What happens if I hold this glass for a few minutes?”

“Nothing,” the students replied.

“Right. Now, what if I hold it for an hour?”

“Your arm will start to hurt,” one answered.

“Correct. And what if I try to hold it all day?”

“Your arm would go numb, you’d be in serious pain, maybe even need medical help,” another said as the class laughed.

The professor nodded calmly.
“Exactly. But tell me—did the weight of the glass ever change?”

“No,” came the reply.

“So why the pain in the arm? Why the tension in the muscles?”

The room fell silent.

Then he asked:
“What should I do to get rid of the pain?”

“Put the glass down,” someone said.

“Exactly!” the professor exclaimed. “Life’s problems work the same way. If you carry them in your head for a few minutes, it’s no big deal. Think about them for too long, and they start to hurt. Dwell on them all day, and they paralyze you—you won’t be able to do anything else.”

He paused, then finished with this:
“That’s why it’s so important to put your problems down at the end of each day. Don’t go to bed carrying the weight of them. Rest, recharge, and you’ll wake up ready to face tomorrow with strength and clarity.”