The Americans with Disabilities Act could have helped my parents. Both were disabled. Life with a disability had so many challenges and barriers in the 1950s and 1960s as they raised their two sons: me and my older brother.

Mom had mobility issues from a series of strokes as a young wife and mother. Her first stroke came about a year after my birth. Her left hand was permanently clenched in a fist. Her left arm was weak. She limped slightly because of her “lazy” left leg.

Dad suffered wounds from World War II that required him to wear a back brace for the rest of his life. After the war, he could not pass any pre-employment physicals to get his old job back or elsewhere. There were no legal protections to prevent discrimination in hiring or firing based on disability. Despite having war-connected disability, his pension was meager and not enough to support a family.

Indigent and in need, we became wards of Kansas in 1952 when I was a kindergartener.

Living in a small community, Dad found a part-time job driving the trash truck. The bumpy route caused him to endure frequent back pain. He was occasionally in and out of the VA Hospital for treatments. He seldom complained about being disabled. He did not quit.

Back then, living with a disability was challenging, especially for Mom. Our housing unit, built in the 1930s, had only two steps – one at the small landing outside the front door, the other at the door – but no ramp. After her second stroke, Mom had to use a walker for short travels and a wheelchair for longer distances. Steps were constant barriers throughout her life.

The house had no handrails. Using 2-by-4s, Dad installed rails on the walls and in the bathroom and kitchen where she could steady herself by using her right hand. The shower had a lip, about 3 inches or so, which was a constant tripping risk.

The community had only one grocery store with a gravel lot and curbs, which were barriers for anyone using a walker or wheelchair. There was no parking for people with disabilities. None was required.

Mom died from her third stroke in 1958 at age 41. The Americans with Disabilities Act became law 32 years later on July 26.

Fast forward to now. My older brother has been disabled from vertigo and other age-relate issues for about 20 years. He uses a walker, sometimes a wheelchair.

His small Section 8 apartment in a nearby small town is fully ADA compliant: a zero-grade front-door entrance (no threshold or steps), zero-grade shower (no lip at the shower door), handrails and hand grips in the bathroom, kitchen and hallways. It has no carpeting since he shuffles his feet as he walks.

His family has disabled parking placards, issued by the state of Kansas. They only use it when he’s a passenger, taking him on outings. When they arrive, they park in designated lots that are paved with zero-grade pathways for accessibility, as required by ADA.

He feels safe and proudly independent at age 82. ADA has done its job, at least for him.

My family’s disabilities probably do not hold a candle to some, perhaps many, who have physical or mental impairments in various ranges of severity. It is important to acknowledge struggles of the disabled were not erased the moment the ADA was signed into law.

People with disabilities still face significant challenges and discrimination. They still face systems that were not designed to accommodate all people, ranging from the health care system to the criminal justice system to employment and education.

Thirty-five years later, true equality remains elusive. There’s a lot to celebrate about the Americans with Disabilities Act and a lot more to achieve towards full ADA compliance for all. This includes acceptance from we who fancy ourselves able-bodied but could develop a disability at some time in our lives, especially as we age.

With my hearing loss, this includes me.