By Maxine Schrader

My six-year-old great granddaughter A’mya is the inspiration for this article.  Whenever she sees braille — in elevators, on doors, signs, ATM machines, and so forth — she loudly and proudly announces to the public “that’s braille; my great grandma can read it!”  What a little advocate she is.

Eighty-one years ago at the age of five I touched my first braille dots, and the magic began and will never end.  Just like A’mya, I said, “that’s braille!”  At her age, I could read and the whole neighborhood knew it.  The kids gathered on my porch and I read the book Old Mother Westwind and the Seven Little Breezes.  After all these years, I can recall that book and wonder if it still exists.  I made sure that everyone on my block knew about braille and its importance to my education.

Back in those days, the textbooks were all braille — no tapes, computers, CDs or any of this modern stuff, so there was no question or fuss about teaching braille in the schools.  Everyone learned to read and write braille and were all the better for it.

As a teenager, I read Gone with the Wind, the big book of that time.  Because of braille, I could stay current on the latest books and magazines and never miss a beat.

Now at 86, I continue to be independent and people kid me about all the braille-marked things in my home:  appliances, files, clothing, canned goods, albums, even lipsticks for their various shades.  You name it; braille is there.

Now when A’mya says “that’s braille; my great grandma can read it,” I say “YOU BETCHA!”