by Regina Marie Brink
As children, most of us take for granted what we have. How many of us have offered to mail our food to other hungry children when our parents urge us to finish our dinner? I was no different. I was enrolled in a pilot program for children who were blind or had low vision in California. It meant leaving my insular Hispanic neighborhood and going to school in an area with kids from backgrounds very different from mine. The premise of this program was that we needed to be mainstreamed gradually. We had a resource room and our teacher, Mrs. Mercedes Nims. In first grade, we only went in the regular classroom during story hour, lunch, and recess. We spent more and more time in the regular classroom. By fifth grade, I hardly saw Mrs. Nims.
Mrs. Nims taught us Braille, typing on a typewriter, to sign our name in cursive, what print letters looked like, geography with tactile maps, and much more. She arranged for us to begin orientation and mobility starting in the 4th grade. She counseled us through discrimination by the regular classroom teachers who sometimes didn’t understand how to accommodate us. At her retirement dinner, she was asked if she regretted never having children of her own. She said: “We had 400 children and we love them all!”
Her husband carved boards to trace our names and a contraption to do math. We used Braille cubes with numbers and symbols. We would place the cubes in wire squares on a wooden board they called a slate. When we worked out that problem, we would pull the board out and the cubes would fall into a tray so we could gather them up and work out a new problem. He made toys and tactile aids by hand.
All the children from my school have gone on to be very successful adults. Those with additional learning disabilities have found jobs that suit their talents. One girl struggled, but she had a photographic memory. She now does data entry for the Veterans Administration. As I receive recognition of my successes, I remember that Mrs. Nims came from the Midwest. She saw us all, Black, Hispanic, Asian, or white, as her children. She practiced equity and inclusion before it was called that. We benefitted from it. So have our families.
When I find myself in front of the California legislature, or talking with our mayor at disability outreach events, or in front of an appreciative audience after a successful show in the theater where I now direct and sometimes perform, I remember Mrs. Nims. She taught me I could do anything I set my mind to, and I have passed this along to my own children and grandchildren. Her love and heart for children, no matter their ethnicity, appearance, income status, or multiple disabilities, transcended the times and has blessed all of us who had the honor of being her students. I want this heartfelt experience for all children.