SHANE LOWE, 19

Shane Lowe, from Louisville, Kentucky, has held a wide variety of technical and administrative roles since he was 13 years old. In his sophomore year of high school Lowe was asked to serve as a technical consultant for Pearson, a publishing company. He worked alongside software developers and represented the needs of blind consumers like himself. During this time, Lowe also contracted with various companies in Europe and the United States as a producer and sound designer, enhancing auditory elements of games and audio dramas to be vivid and immersive without any visuals necessary.

Lowe is at his best when working in the public eye. He got his start as a public relations liaison with a small internet radio station based in the United Kingdom, and at 17, transferred to another network in New York City, as a general manager. Between radio projects, Lowe, along with six other high school students, collaborated with the Louisville Story Program to write an anthology representing the perspectives of blind youth. Their book, We Can Hear You Just Fine, was published in November of 2016. Lowe sat on the Commissioner of Education’s Student Council for two years, where he joined a select group of students from Kentucky in advising the Commissioner on matters of legislature affecting students across the state.

Lowe is pursuing a degree in business management at Brescia University. In his free time, he builds trains with his two-year-old son Kayson, serves as a comedic and inspirational speaker with the Louisville Story Program, and performs and produces with musicians from the Berklee College of Music. Lowe believes that the future is brightest when it is not sought alone, and that understanding without borders is the key to success.

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by Shane Lowe

Sitting on the couch recessed into an alcove of the hospital room, I wish it were darker. Lights flash as nurses work on the bedridden woman in front of me, all of them oblivious of the observations congregating to form something undeniable in my skull. They glanced at me upon entering the room. They only considered that I could be the father after they assumed the real dad who had to work an early shift was just grabbing breakfast, or was otherwise ill. I’m only 16 after all, and have just graduated my Junior year of high school. Now with a blind baby? Such a tragedy, they must think. These nurses are the worst.

The medical brigade of ignorance eventually gave way to specialists who mattered, and I assure them that I am the father and make a point of taking a role in the proceedings. I spend the next several hours actively messaging family and friends, picking up lunch for my family, and reading in the intermittent moments when no one wanted to chat. Three hundred pages, an eight-inch Subway sandwich, a baby, and a drive home later, I found my next passion: my son

Kayson.

*****

Standing alone in my front yard on a crisp October morning, I stare into the light of the sun. Thoughts meander through my consciousness and I am lost in them for some time until a creature scurries up to my side. It grabs my hand, pulling me across the grass at a quick pace. I follow eighteen-month-old Kayson as he leads me around, exclaiming, “tree” and “car” in his tour of the lawn. I smile with him, in the moment, marveling at his fascination with the here and now of the world around him. Everything is new and vibrant, there is a mystery in each word and glance. He doesn’t worry about what can be or what should be; he doesn’t judge or criticize. He is content with names. “Truck, daddy! Truck!”

We run across the driveway together, and vanish around the side of the house to explore new territory. He is the essence of evolution, he is the core of humanity. He is my son and I make every second with him last as long as I can because nothing can compare to this. With Kayson, I spend every moment breathing in a new acceptance. That of my baby son.