Reading for my blind grandfather

Sarah Franklin grew up reading aloud to his grandfather, who was blind - a privilege it has always treasure

I have an indelible memory of my grandfather, Jack. He has 30 years odd, sitting in his usual wing chair in the living room of his grandfather, with his cane behind him hung. I have seven, next to him on a stool that I have exaggerated the sewing room of my grandmother. The light of Sunday afternoon drifting through the window. We are reading aloud, our fervent two heads with glasses, leaned over the page in front of us, a finger marking words. Separated by seven decades united by the words

is a common scene in families, except in our case, the natural order of things is reversed. The grandfather was blind since childhood. Instead of reading what I read to him.

an avid reader from the time they have cracked the code, who was blind in the selection of materials. When reading aloud, reading something that is of interest to the listener. So I have not read children's books, I read stuff like father loved to hear. Excerpts from the local newspaper, hymns. Bulletins RNIB

For starters, most of the vocabulary in the grandfather reading material was beyond me. When I reached the terminology unknown, I draw. Grandpa would take the letters in your mind and carefully reassemble the word to me that I could fall in the declaration. It must have been unbearable in a way for him to hear the news, but never raced along, or complains of a mispronunciation. Our sessions were not really read the dissemination of knowledge, which went far beyond information on the page. It was a way to spend time together when other hobbies Mutual were out of reach.

My grandfather was not always blind. A kind and gentle man, who was a carpenter, a magician who could measure by sight and feel the texture and weight of the wood was not necessary for a particular task, capable of creating a world in one piece raw wood. The first Christmas of the marriage of my parents, grandfather of my mother built a mahogany library bookworm, the way welcome to the family. The rack came with me when I moved into my first little apartment in London, a tangible reminder of the roots of the forest that we shared. One hundred years after the birth of Jack, my first son was born in the United States, the library, which had crossed the Atlantic with us, Jonas made, linking memories across the miles, linking the four generations

• lucky I was a kid, I spent much time with my grandparents, and each of them has opened the world to me in a special way. Grandpa Jack was potentially able to gain access to at least as young children, talkative and not blind septuagenarian obvious partners in crime. The reading was the way to build a relationship that has had a lasting effect on me.

during school holidays, my sister and I, sometimes accompanied by our grandparents to travel by bus to the beach with the local association for the blind. This may seem an eccentric choice in the context of today's world centered technicolor children's entertainment, but we feel privileged and valued. The elderly, especially those who are blind, have plenty of time for young people.

When you can only move as fast as his cane to detect obstacles, a barrage of talk is a line of sight in the world beyond their point of view. And for me, to help our friends of the elderly across the street, reading the menu for them, describing the image that accompanies the taste of salt water and the rigidity of the sea breeze - steeped me very real sense, the self-esteem and responsibility beyond the usual sandcastles and candy floss, the pleasure of the beach. And it taught me a lot, although I did not know at the time about how to tell a story, how to draw with words, how to attract your audience
A decade later, looking for a working visit to the university, I avoided bar and shop and find a place in a nursing home, which echoed my early experience, reading the elderly, chairs arranged in a horseshoe in the lives of people. Grandfather had a link that was dead at that point, and a reminder of my frantic 20 if we're lucky, comes of age for us all.

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