Learning Braille: Notes from the Trenches

Learning Braille: Notes from the Trenches

The Braille Monitor

January,

2004

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Learning Braille: Notes

from the Trenches

by Heidi Lasher Oakes

From the Editor: For

twenty years Heidi Lasher Oakes was a sculptor. Because of progressive vision

loss she decided to return to college to earn a degree in biology. Heidi called

the NFB of Maryland early in 2002 to seek assistance in obtaining rehabilitation

services from the state agency serving the blind. As a result Heidi attended

the Colorado Center for the Blind and Blind Industries and Services of Maryland

(BISM) for adjustment-to-blindness training. Since completing her training,

Heidi has continued to make good progress with Braille.

She says that she has

placed Braille labels on about sixty spice jars and on appliances in her kitchen

as well as on her music and computer CD cases. As a new Braille reader Heidi's

insights and experiences, as recounted in the following article, will be a source

of encouragement to anyone interested in Braille. This story first appeared

in the spring 2003 issue of the Braille Spectator, the publication of the NFB

of Maryland. This is what she says:

My interest in Braille

dates back to my sighted childhood. I have always loved patterns and tactile

surfaces. I was originally trained in sculpture, and I taught art at the college

level for six years. Now I'm a second career graduate student at Johns Hopkins

University studying biology and math. Even when I was fully sighted, saying

"let me see that" meant that I wanted to hold or touch the object

in question to determine its weight or texture. The base six structure of the

Braille alphabet appeals to my left brain, while its attractive tactile quality

appeals to my right brain—so both sides of my brain are happy when I am

reading Braille.

Twelve years ago I began

to lose my vision to what is now thought to be a rare form of X linked retinitis

pigmentosa. In July 2002 I began to receive training in skills for the blind

at the Colorado Center for the Blind. Even before the start of my training,

I was very excited to learn Braille. I knew acquiring skills in reading Braille

would help me to resolve the greatest fear caused by my vision loss—that

I would become unable to read print before I had learned a viable alternative.

I have listened to and

enjoyed books on tape for many years while working in my studio, but I have

never considered them a replacement for paper books, and I do not equate listening

with reading. There are two reasons that I feel this way. First, I relate to

paper books as physical objects. My experience of reading a paper book is very

different from reading the same words with a magnifier or listening to them

on tape. While in both cases the words are abstract constructs, the book has

its own individual weight, smell, and texture. Different books are made with

different kinds of paper and different bindings. They can age, be damaged and

repaired, and be written in or dog eared by others. Notes can be left sandwiched

between their pages. These marks of use help to reinforce their identity as

unique physical objects.

Second, when I am reading

a paper book, I hear the voice of the narrator in my head. The narrator is often

the main character, but even if no narrator is identified, I find that I imagine

a different narrator for each book I read, often for different sections of the

same book. This is a phenomenon I haven't read or heard much about but which

has been confirmed by friends who are avid readers. This ability to create my

own voice for the narrator of each book is for me a valuable part of reading.

It is almost like the auditory counterpart of illustrations—the color and

texture of the narrator's voice influences my perception of the words just as

much.

For all of these reasons

I eagerly anticipated learning Braille. However, my initial experience with

Braille, which I have nicknamed the "Numb Fingers"

stage, was unexpectedly frustrating. I could feel just enough to know that dots

were on the page, but not enough to know which dots they were. I attributed

this lack of fine tactile sensation to my twenty years of experience as a sculptor,

which had left me with some peripheral nerve damage in my fingers. I tried to

have a sense of humor about it, but within a few days I was feeling frustrated,

depressed, and fearful that my tactile ability would never improve.

One night, after about

three weeks, I remembered two techniques I used to teach my drawing students

to observe more carefully—using

their nondominant hand and drawing with their eyes closed. I decided to see

if the same techniques might be helpful to me in learning Braille. To my surprise

the experiment was an immediate and dramatic success. I had already been working

under sleep shades, but somehow using my nondominant hand made a lightbulb go

on inside my brain. Suddenly, without a doubt, I could recognize the first nine

letters of the alphabet.

My experience of learning

Braille was never as frustrating again. As I learned the rest of the alphabet

and then moved on to learn the Grade II [contracted Braille] contractions, I

was able to make some observations about my learning process. I was particularly

interested to notice that, as I learned the letters, the tactile knowledge transferred

from my nondominant to my dominant hand. Over the next few days my dominant

hand gradually took over again so that now I rely on it as my primary Braille

reading hand, with my nondominant hand filling in as backup.

Also it was essential for

me to learn Braille initially under sleep shades although, once I mastered the

alphabet, I found it useful also to practice using visual and tactile methods

together. Finally, I have been amused to observe that my mild dyslexia—a

tendency to invert or reverse print tail letters when I write, turning print

b's into d's or p's and so on—transferred itself to

Braille as I got more comfortable with the characters, just as it did to the

keyboard when I learned how to touch type. In the case of Braille I have to

be careful with m and ing, y and and, e and i, and most of all with that nefarious

quartet, d, f, h, and j.

Learning

Braille as part of a group of students was an invaluable element in my education.

The group provided a sense of community, and it was helpful to be able to learn

by observation and by conversations with others. For example, I was reassured

to find that most of the people losing their vision as adults had at least initial

difficulty feeling the dots. I have since learned that such loss of sensation

is common for many people who work with their hands a lot and also for many

diabetics.

The

daily classes and dedicated instruction were also essential. As every accomplished

Braille reader I have spoken to has told me, even two hours a day is not nearly

enough, but it is definitely better than meeting with an instructor once a week.

I worked regularly on my own and continue to do so now that I am back in Maryland.

After three months of Braille

study I am now smoking along at the snail like rate of between twelve and sixteen

words a minute. However, I feel optimistic. Even though it is a slow process

right now, it is very exciting to be able once again to read on my own, without

the assistance of a computer, tape player, or other assistive device. I am counting

on this excitement, along with my love of Braille, to keep me motivated in what

I know will be a long process of improving my reading speed.

In closing, I offer special

thanks to Tom Anderson, my Braille instructor at the Colorado Center for the

Blind, for his unfailing patience, generosity, and sense of humor.

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