Keeping Within the Lines

Keeping Within the Lines

Future Reflections Winter 1996, Vol. 15 No. 1
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KEEPING WITHIN THE LINES
by Marc Maurer
Editor's Note: Marc Maurer is President of the National Federation
of the Blind. He is a graduate of Notre Dame and the University of
Indiana Law School and a member of the bar of several states and the
United States Supreme Court. He is also the father of two young
children. Braille is an important tool for him-in his career and in his
home. Here is what he has to say about some of his early experiences
with Braille:
The kindergarten in the public school that I attended when I was
five left me with a feeling of alienation and frustration-though I
didn't know the words to describe the problem. My teacher was a kind and
gentle lady, who tried to help me, but I presented difficulties which
she felt unable to solve. Many of the kindergarten activities were done
visually. Learning colors, drawing, recognizing letters and numbers,
naming the geometric shapes-all of these were presented visually. Some
kindergarten tasks could be done quite effectively without
sight-counting, reciting the alphabet, remembering your own address and
telephone number, listing in order the days of the week or the months of
the year. But in the drawing classes I was unable to "keep within the
lines," and "keeping within the lines" was important.
I learned the shapes of the print capital letters from the
building blocks we had, and I came to know the forms of numbers in the
same way. By the time kindergarten had come to an end, I had learned to
print my name, M-A-R-C, but I usually got it backwards-C-R-A-M. As I
viewed it, the experiment with kindergarten was only marginally
successful. Although it was never stated, the lesson of kindergarten was
unmistakable-blind people are different from others; they require
kindness; they can't do the ordinary things that other people do; they
can't keep within the lines.
My parents decided that I would attend the school for the blind
even though doing so meant that I would be away from home during most of
the school year. Of course, I could return home for holidays and during
some weekends, but the rest of the time I would live in a dormitory with
my classmates at the school. At the age of six I left home. The school
for the blind was over a hundred miles from our house. It was the
beginning of a different kind of life.
Because I was at that time almost totally blind, I was expected to
learn Braille. We started the learning process with flash cards. There
was a straight line of Braille dots across the top of each card and a
single word in the center. I still remember the first flash card I ever
read; it contained the word "go."
Each of us was given our first reading book-the primer about Dick
and Jane and Spot. It was the first Braille book I ever had in my hands.
My book seemed to be about a foot square and about a half an inch thick.
The teacher told us to open our books to page one. My desk was in the
first row, about the sixth or seventh from the front. The first child in
the row was asked to read page one. When there were mistakes, the
teacher corrected them.
Then the second student was asked to read the same page. Again,
when there were mistakes, the teacher corrected them. The lesson
continued in the same manner. Each student in the first row was asked to
read page one. By the time the teacher got to me, my job was clear, and
my performance flawless. With my fingers on the page, I spoke the words
of page one with never an error or hesitation. The teacher praised me
highly and asked me to come to the front of the room. She produced a
gold star from her desk drawer and pasted it to page one of my book. She
told me to take my book home and show it to my mother. This is exactly
what I did. On Friday night after the journey home I proudly produced my
primer, opened it to page one, and recited the words which appeared on
the page.
My mother is a properly suspicious woman. She had learned Braille
in the years before I attended school because she thought it might be
helpful to me. She asked me if she could borrow the book, and of course
I gave it to her. Later during the weekend she brought me a page of
Braille and asked me to read it. Without much concern I confessed that I
could not. My mother told me that it was an exact copy of page one of my
book. I had memorized the words, but I was not able to read them.
During the summer between my first and second grade years, my
mother took matters in hand. She told me that I must learn to read, and
she said that she would teach me. For an hour every morning I was going
to study Braille. I complained. The other kids got to go outside to
play, but I could not. Nobody else had summer school at home-only me.
But none of my griping did any good. My mother had made up her mind; I
was going to learn to read.
When I returned to the school for the blind for second grade, I
discovered the library of Braille books-that collection of
sweet-smelling Braille volumes almost a foot square and about two and a
half inches thick. During the next four years I read every book that the
librarian would let me have. I developed the habit of reading at night.
Blindness has some advantages. I would slide the book under the bed
sometime during the evening. Bedtime was 8:00. The house parent made his
rounds between 8:30 and 8:45. I could hear his shoes coming down the
hall and then receding in the distance. When the footsteps had faded,
the book came out. No light is needed for Braille. Sometimes it was
cold, but the Braille book would fit under the covers.
I tried the same system at home, and it worked most of the time.
When I got caught, which happened occasionally, my mother spanked me.
The punishments were fair, but the reading was worth it.
Although I complained bitterly about learning Braille, I am deeply
grateful to my mother for insisting that I learn it. How fortunate I am
that she understood the necessity for me to read. How fortunate I am
that she was persistent and demanding. How fortunate I am that she had
learned Braille herself and was able to teach me.
Today we in the National Federation of the Blind do much to help
make Braille available to blind students and to encourage the teaching
of Braille both to children and adults who are blind. But this is not
how it has always been. There was a time when Braille was regarded as
inferior, and all too often today it does not get the attention it
deserves. Much of my work as a lawyer could not have been done without
Braille. I now read to my children most evenings. They enjoy the
stories, and I enjoy the reading as much as they do. How different my
life would have been without the ability to read Braille. How different
it can be for the children of this generation if we give them the chance
to learn. The message should not be that blind people are different and
unable to take part. Even though I might not be able to draw, my mother
felt certain that I could keep within the lines. We in the National
Federation of the Blind are doing what we can to make it come true.
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