Pittsburgh Obama (The Barack Obama Academy of International Studies)
Senior? Yes
Elite top 100? Yes
Letters of recommendation: Letter of Recommendation 1, Letter of Recommendation 2
The most complicated book I’ve ever “read” was My Cousin Momo, by Zachariah O’Hora. A picture book. That may sound counterintuitive. For most of us, picture books are simple. Their colors and visuals tell stories in an easily intelligible way.
How do you communicate all that to someone who can’t see?
That was my challenge narrating My Cousin Momo at the Library for the Blind and Physically Handicapped (LBPH) last spring. My Cousin Momo was so difficult because it was an intensely visual story told vocally, and I couldn’t disappoint: it would be recorded, entered into the Library of Congress’ National Library System, and made available to disabled patrons around the country. For a kid somewhere, my voice would be the prime factor allowing them to experience the book’s story of diversity and inclusion. That’s not something you can mess up, especially when disabled people are rarely treated equally in society.
We spent almost an hour getting My Cousin Momo just right, capturing the exclamations and exaggerated font and the parts of the story that weren’t written but drawn. The effort was exhilarating, not exhausting. I admire LBPH’s work to make equitable, meaningful access to literature a reality.
It’s easy to be unaware of the importance of equity. When I was younger, I took the ability to read, and access to books, for granted. Both came easily for me. Volunteering at LBPH has helped me understand my privilege. When you have easy access to reading materials, you don’t often consider how challenging it is for people like LBPH’s patrons to get any access. But if we as a society want everyone to live to their fullest potential, we need to start with making sure everyone has access to literature. Literature’s capacity for opening new worlds is even more profound for those with physical limitations.
Volunteering at LBPH has deepened my sense of empathy. The ability to slip into someone else’s shoes doesn’t only matter when I’m trying to think about how a listener might perceive my narrations. It enriches my life elsewhere by allowing me to connect with people who have led very different lives from my own for reasons of race, gender, and socioeconomic status. In doing so, I’ve come to appreciate that challenges of equity cut across many different lines.
My Cousin Momo may seem somewhat insignificant. It is, after all, “just” a picture book. It’s also a piece of a larger picture. By sharing a message of accepting and appreciating our differences rather than shunning those who are different, My Cousin Momo is a reminder. It teaches its readers—and listeners—that we can all take small steps to make the world a more welcoming, more equitable place. That’s a lesson we can apply anywhere, and it’s a lesson I try always to remember.