I am a woman, blind and black
        Perceived and maligned as though I lack
        Value or ability to function in society;
        Weakness, pity, one of color
        Treated unlike any other
        For to a business entity
        An employee quota times three

        — “Undying Scream” by Annie E. McEachirn

        Annie McEachirn, a 46-year-old working mother and master's degree student, wrote that poem to describe inner feelings, though on the outside she often wears a smile.

        The poem, she says, could also describe post-riot Cincinnati or our country, after the terrorist attacks.

        “This is the theme for our country. Everybody is screaming ... whether outwardly or inwardly,” she says.

McEachirn

        Ms. McEachirn is used to speaking about feelings on behalf of others and herself. Coordinator of the Talking Book program at the Cincinnati Association for the Blind, she is one of the association's busiest unofficial ambassadors.

        Her diversity and sensitivity training to local companies and agencies — including Comair, Cinergy, Women Helping Women, and First Transit (a transportation service) — doesn't come from textbooks, but from lessons she learned by overcoming obstacles related to her race, gender or disability.

        “I feel my responsibility as a citizen is ... to educate people,” she says, a mission from the great-uncle who helped raise her.

        Ms. McEachirn was born blind in small-town Lake Lure, N.C., near Asheville. A doctor told her parents to institutionalize her because she would never be able to interact with others. But a great-uncle wouldn't have it.

        “My parents didn't know what to do with me. They were getting ready to isolate me but (her great-uncle) said, "No way.'

        “He had a farm. He had paid help. Not a day went by that he didn't speak with me and interact with me. He had me picking cotton when I was 3 years old, giving me a penny a day. He called it a red dollar.”

        He taught her to ride horses, and she went to Walt Disney World twice and rode all the rides. In high school, the “Scream Machine” roller-coaster at Six Flags over Georgia was her favorite.

        Classroom cruelty undermined her self-confidence, she says, so she transferred from public school to a residential school for the blind.

        She left public school at age 10 because classmates' cruelty was undermining her self-confidence. Students called her names, hit and pinched her, and stole her books, daring her to guess who did it.

        She never forgot what her great-uncle taught her.

        “My great-uncle told me three things will get me through life: He said to believe in yourself, because if you don't believe in yourself nobody else will. Believe in Christ, because He'll get you through when nothing else will. And believe in education, and pursue it with all your might.”

        She has become adept at problem-solving.

        A part-time student, she seeks alternate scholarship sources to pay for her studies toward a master's degree in social work at University of Cincinnati.

        She uses a Braille computer to do homework, prepare speeches, fill out applications. In January, she'll work at an agency for field study. Normally, she would get her degree in a year, but she asked for an additional year so she can keep working to pay for school.

        “I've had to do a lot of positive self-talk along this journey,” she says. “It's like a whole 'nother job, finding scholarship money. ... I tell myself, "You've got a GPA of 3.9. Why stop now?'”

        She travels to see her two grown children or to take vacations. She has learned to plan ahead, calling airlines to be sure the flight staff knows she'll be bringing a guide dog and needs a bulkhead seat.

        “If I just show up, they don't know what to do and I might have problems,” she says.

        At a security gate, recently, she followed accepted practice and took off the leash from her guide dog, handing it to a security person as the dog went through the gate and waited. But as she tried passing through unassisted, a gate agent with a fear of dogs panicked and began yelling.

        When she tried to check in before boarding, the ticket agent asked Ms. McEachirn's son if she had identification. He kept silent as his mom responded to the question that should have been directed at her.

        As they walked away, she said he murmured “Mom, you just have to teach them. They're so ignorant.”

        That what she does, she says, though her speeches, her art, her writing. She tries to show people how she sees them, at her talks.

        “There is one thing that is beautiful I see about being blind, only one,” she says.

        “When I stand before a group I can actually look out and say "What a beautiful group of people you are'... I can't see to prejudge them ... but I can see their souls.”
       

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