By Anna Zivarts
It’s the end of a long day in front of my computer screen. And if I’m honest with myself, even before I sat down to work, I was up reading on my phone for a couple hours before that. My head aches and all I want to do is close my eyes. But it’s bedtime and my kid wants a story. So I pull out my phone again, willing myself through another chapter.
Many of us feel like we spend too much time on screens. But, for me, reading print books isn’t really an option. I was born with nystagmus, a neurological condition that makes my eyes shake and makes it really hard for me to read regular-sized font. By using my phone or a laptop, I can enlarge the font, and that reduces the eye strain. Even with large fonts, by the end of a long day, I feel the tension around my eyes spreading into a headache.
I love reading. Since childhood, books have been a way to picture a world that I couldn’t always see with my own eyes. Which is why, as reading text became painful, I started to dream of reading with my fingertips: I really wanted to learn braille.
Like any language skill, braille is much easier to learn when you’re young. This has become very apparent as I try to learn braille alongside my kid, who has been getting instruction since kindergarten. He particularly enjoys grading the homework he’s assigned me; more often than not, I end up with a negative number of stars.
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Being the only kid at school who’s learning braille is a lonely path, which is why I was so thrilled when I learned about the Washington Talking Book and Braille Library and the services they offer for young readers. Through their youth program, my kid has participated in summer reading challenges, and most recently joined their braille pen pal program.
Last week, we sat together as he used his Perkins brailler (an awesome manual braille typewriter with six large keys, one for each of the dot cells used in braille letters). His excitement around connecting with another young person who is also learning braille was apparent as he peppered me with questions. Where did she live? What grade was she in? Would she know the special braille contractions he was using? Then for my homework assignment, he insisted I type a letter to my friend who is learning braille and proceeded to correct all my typing errors.
But like so many critical services, the Talking Book and Braille Library is facing funding cuts. Declining Washington State revenue from document-recording fees meant that last year, the library had to lay off staff and make cuts to programming—including story times, low-vision workshops, and braille instruction.
The library is seeking $3 million from our state’s general fund this year to prevent further cuts. At risk of elimination is their audio and braille production capabilities. As a local author published by a small press without the ability to produce an audio version of my book, I was frustrated that my work wasn’t going to be available to blind readers. But thanks to the Talking Book and Braille Library, my book is being recorded and will be released soon. This production capacity ensures that books by Northwest authors are accessible to people who can’t read standard print, not just here in Washington state but to people living throughout the US through the National Library Service for the Blind and Print Disabled.
Now is not the time to walk away from funding public services and institutions that bring our communities together. The $3 million funding the Talking Book and Braille Library is seeking from our state’s general fund is a small ask. I urge our legislators to find the money to support this critical resource.
Anna Zivarts is the parent representative on WTTBL’s Patron Advisory Council and a Seattle-based author of When Driving Isn’t an Option, Steering Away from Car Dependency (Island Press, 2024).
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