What My Music Classroom Taught Me About Accessible Web Design

Before I built websites, I taught music. And the thing that classroom taught me is the same thing I now believe about the web: when you design for the person who is being left out, you make it better for everyone.

Let me tell you what I mean.

The tape on the recorder

I once had a student with limited dexterity who could not cover all the holes on a recorder. So I put tape over the ones she could not reach and left the ones she could. She could finally play.

Here is what I did not expect. Covering those holes changed which notes were available, and that little constraint handed me ideas for writing more interesting songs for the entire class. The fix I made for one student made the music better for all of them.

It kept happening. I had kids who got overwhelmed at cleanup time, so I labeled the instrument storage clearly, a spot for everything and everything in its spot. That helped the students who needed the structure. It also meant that on a day I was out sick, a substitute could walk in and run my room without a single frantic text to me. One change, better for everyone.

I used to assume that accommodating one person meant complicating things for the rest. Over and over, that classroom taught me the opposite. Being inclusive does not improve life for a few people at everyone else's expense. It quietly improves the whole room.

The same lesson, a new medium

Not long ago I built a website for a client who is blind and navigates the web entirely by screen reader. She does not see the layout or the colors. She hears the site one line at a time and moves through it by keyboard.

I thought I already knew how to build accessibly. I added alt text. I used headings. I figured I was doing the work. I was not, not really.

A screen reader reads a row of unlabeled social icons as "link, link, link." No context, no destination, just identical links you are supposed to guess your way through. Once you hear that, you cannot unhear it. So I started labeling everything with intention. "Visit our Facebook," not "link." "Learn more about our pricing," not the tenth identical "Learn more" on the page. I wrote alt text that describes an image out loud instead of leaving it blank. I made headings follow a real order, made menus announce themselves, and made sure a keyboard could reach everything a mouse could.

And there it was again, the tape on the recorder. Every one of those choices made the site better for everyone. Descriptive links help search engines find you. Clean headings help the person skimming on their phone in a waiting room. Good contrast helps anyone reading in bright sun. Clarity helps all of us. Those accessibility choices are just good design. The two were never really separate.

Where I am straight with you

I am not going to claim that every site I build is fully accessible, or promise that every future one will be. If accessibility is not a client's goal, I am not always going to build a top to bottom, screen-reader-tested site on my own time. That is the real math of doing this for a living, and I would rather tell you the truth than sell you a halo.

But here is what I can promise. The foundations of accessible web design that overlap with good design anyway come standard on what I build, because they cost almost nothing and help everyone who lands on your site. And when accessibility is your goal, when you want a site that truly works for someone using a screen reader, I know how to build that. I have built that. And I will build it with care, not as an afterthought bolted on at the end.

The part I actually believe

Our world has enough locked doors. There is no reason for me to go around building more of them.

If you have ever had a quiet worry that your own site might be turning some people away, you are not wrong to listen to it, and you do not have to sort it out alone. Book a free Good Fit Call and I will help you figure out what your site needs. No pressure. Just clarity.