No brad, I did not write the piece called IMAGINE! I got it from the 
OSSB Alumni List, to which I belong, having gone to the Ohio State 
School for the blind from September, 1953 until June, 1966.


LOVE AND BLESSINGS,
Reeva Parry.


On Saturday 6/9/2007 11:54 PM, Brad D said:

>Reeva,
>
>Did you write this?  Even if you hadn't, I sure like it. Does 
>a  pretty good job of telling it how it is. One thing that would be 
>nice to add to the ice in isolation is  having  two young kids under 
>7 and a wife who relied on your income to provide for them and now 
>they stare at you wondering what you are going to do now. I tell you 
>that tends to add to the pressures real quick. And what about 
>protector of the family? You know. You hear a noise out in the 
>garage in the middle of the night and you'd give anything to be the 
>one with the baseball bat or other domestic weaponry at the ready 
>when you open the door to find a cat got locked in :).
>
>Brad
>
>At 09:23 PM 6/9/2007, Reeva Parry sent:


>>This is rather lengthy, and done sort of tongue and cheek, but 
>>trying to make a point! So, stick with me!
>>
>>
>>Imagine: You've just entered your office on what may well be the 
>>most hectic, stressful day of your life. Suddenly you realize all 
>>of your reference books, piles of paper-work and notes are covered 
>>with little bumps. In fact, you discover there is not one single 
>>printed word to be found. Every scrap of information necessary to 
>>do your job is now in Braille.
>>
>>Imagine: You rush back out of your office, wildly looking about, 
>>peering into offices, staring over the shoulders of clerks. 
>>Everybody is calmly doing their job, using Braille. Mysteriously 
>>they have learned the language overnight. Only you, it seems, were 
>>overlooked. For some unknown reason, you are permanently and 
>>totally Braille challenged.
>>
>>Imagine: You dash for the door hoping the rest of the world has not 
>>gone mad. It has. In the elevator, you're not sure which button to 
>>press for the lobby. Someone has to help you. They stare at you as 
>>if you are stupid. Pausing at the news stand, you are unable to 
>>tell one magazine from another. You can't stand it, you need to go 
>>home and collect your thoughts. But at the bus stop, there's no way 
>>of telling which coach is yours. You back away, not wanting anyone 
>>to know, and you decide you'll call a cab. Of course, you only 
>>brought bus fare and lunch money, not nearly enough for the taxi. 
>>Remembering your bank card, you pull it out as you run back into 
>>the lobby. There, at the access machine, you stop short. The card 
>>has turned to Braille, and so have all of the instructions on the 
>>machine. You'll have to call home and ask for help. Funny, you 
>>never paid much attention to the telephone dial and now, in your 
>>growing state of confusion, you don't recall which number goes 
>>where. You are so alone, so frightened, you actually begin to weep.
>>
>>Imagine: You have always seen yourself as a leader, a visionary, a 
>>problem-solver. You will not run from this challenge. You shall 
>>succeed. You have a large mortgage. Once you have recovered from 
>>the great shock, you begin looking for ways to survive.
>>
>>Imagine: You have finally made arrangements, through your employer, 
>>to hire a Braille reader, a process so complex and painful you plan 
>>to patent it and use it to torture Terrorists. Now you sit in your 
>>chair going quietly mad listening to the drone of your reader's 
>>voice, taking hours of time to cover what you once scanned in 
>>minutes, while others whip about you efficiently communicating 
>>among themselves via Braille-FAX and E-B-mail. You begin to feel 
>>the "ice" in isolation.
>>
>>Imagine: You learn you are not alone. You are a member of a very 
>>small minority of Braille-Challenged people. There is, in fact, a 
>>Brailleless Culture; a history far too long and complex to discuss 
>>here. So, you become a member of the, Brailleless Association of 
>>America. (BAA) At the BAA meetings you find out about a number of 
>>small companies manufacturing adaptive equipment which enables 
>>Brailleless persons to access all of the Braille computers, FAX 
>>machines, Braille scanners and Braillers.
>>
>>The expense is far more than you can afford, so you seek assistance 
>>from your employer. Your request is turned down. There are no 
>>requirements that your employer accommodate your disability.
>>
>>Imagine: BAA, along with many other disability groups, battle in 
>>Congress for the passage of a Bill, guaranteeing you equal 
>>treatment under the Law. The bill passes and, despite subtle 
>>messages from your fiscal officer, money is "found" for your 
>>accommodation. After considerable time and effort, the technician 
>>from the Department of Services for the Brailleless has you 
>>on-line. Now you are able to scan Braille text and convert the 
>>little dots into letters, and through a very complex process, the 
>>Braille display on your computer is transformed into print. 
>>Finally, you are again up to speed, being your old efficient self, 
>>feeling good about your work.
>>
>>Imagine: You're humming and smiling and cranking along in high 
>>gear. Suddenly, a message flashes on your screen and drives terror 
>>through your heart. New breakthroughs in technology have produced 
>>equipment so superior to the ancient junk--at least four years 
>>old-- presently in use, that your organization is upgrading the 
>>entire communications system.
>>
>>The BAA, technicians have already informed you that your adaptive 
>>equipment is not compatible with it. You go to the "Powers-That-Be" 
>>in your organization, and request a meeting to discuss this 
>>concern. You are told that your fears are groundless. You will not 
>>be forgotten. Following this meeting, a rumor goes around hinting 
>>that you are trying to sabotage the new system, and your associates 
>>begin to whisper behind your back. They want the new system. It's 
>>far superior, more compact, ten times faster, and it's cool 
>>looking. They are sick of your "whining and constant complaining". 
>>You feel the "ice" settling in again.
>>
>>Imagine: You have been forgotten. The new system is in place. 
>>Everybody loves it. You've been told not to worry, someone will be 
>>around to do what is necessary to put you back on-line. The 
>>"someone" they had in mind is the same technician who told you the 
>>system would not work. Despite your concerns, no one bothered to 
>>investigate before the equipment was installed. Once again, you 
>>sit, going quietly mad while your reader plows line by line through 
>>the piles of Braille.
>>
>>Imagine: You know you are close to losing your mind or your 
>>job--probably both. You must find other employment, but you do not 
>>want your associates to know you are finally beaten. You try to 
>>figure out a way to do a quiet job search when all information is 
>>only accessible in Braille.
>>
>>One day you hear that your State has developed a central 
>>information center, called a, "kiosk". These information centers 
>>are being set up in easily accessible locations. The plan is for 
>>these kiosks to make government information and services available 
>>quickly and conveniently to the public. Sort of a "one stop 
>>shopping center". You learn that lists of job openings are among 
>>the many services offered. This is perfect. This is exactly what 
>>you need. you discover your town recently placed a kiosk in the 
>>Mall. You go there on Saturday afternoon. There it stands, costing 
>>the taxpayers hundreds of thousands of dollars to create, but well 
>>worth it. In its ultimate form, the kiosks will bring virtually all 
>>State services right into your local neighborhood. You are thrilled 
>>as you step up to the controls. An automated voice welcomes you and 
>>brags about the wonders of this system. Breathlessly, you wait for 
>>your instructions ... Then, the Braille display appears.
>>
>>Imagine: They are dragging you away, shrieking at the top of your 
>>voice. Onlookers are amazed. They do not know how you managed to 
>>rip the iron bench from the floor of the Mall. None of them dared 
>>to try to stop you as you swung it over your head, again and again, 
>>smashing the kiosk into pieces of broken plastic, glass and twisted 
>>metal. None of them understand why you kept screaming the same 
>>words over and over.
>>
>>"I pay taxes, too! I pay taxes, too! I pay taxes, too!......."