Built because my family
couldn't communicate

My mom had a stroke.

One day she was talking. The next day she wasn't. She could think everything. Feel everything. Understand everything. But the words wouldn't come out.

She'd sit at the doctor's office and couldn't tell them where it hurt. She'd go to the pharmacy and couldn't ask for her medication. She'd call me and all I'd hear was silence.

I watched my mother — a woman who raised me, who had an opinion about everything, who never stopped talking — sit in silence because her brain couldn't connect to her mouth anymore.

My son was born without a voice.

My son is autistic and nonverbal. He's never spoken a word. Not because he doesn't have things to say — but because his brain works differently.

I watched him get frustrated every single day. He'd want something and nobody could understand him. He'd feel something and have no way to tell us. He'd be in pain and we'd have to guess.

The AAC devices they offered us cost $8,000 to $15,000. They required a speech therapist to configure. They required him to build sentences — select a subject, then a verb, then an object. My son can't do that. The cognitive load was designed for people who think in sentences but can't say them. What about people who don't think in sentences at all?

This isn't a software problem. It's an infrastructure problem.

When a wheelchair user approaches a building, we don't ask them to call ahead. We don't make them use a special app. We don't charge them $15,000. We built a ramp.

When a blind person enters a building, we don't hand them a screen. We put braille on the signs.

But when a nonverbal person walks into a government office, a hospital, a restaurant — there's nothing. No ramp. No braille. No infrastructure. Just silence.

There are thousands of translation companies. Every town has a phone interpreter they can call. But Stacey Lumley, Statewide Digital Accessibility Lead for Connecticut, said it best:

TinkyTown is what's left. A QR code on a counter. Scan it with your phone. Tap a picture. The device speaks for you. One tap. Zero cognitive load. Any language. Any building.

Millions of people. Zero infrastructure.

These are the people who walk into buildings every day and can't ask for help:

Add it up. That's nearly 100 million people in the United States who struggle to communicate in public spaces every single day. Not because they don't have something to say. Because the world wasn't built for how they say it.

TinkyTown changes that. Not with expensive devices. Not with specialized training. With a QR code on a counter and a phone in their pocket.

Communication is a right, not a privilege.

Where we've been. Where we're going.

A world where anyone can communicate.

Not just those born with the ability. Not just those who can afford a $15,000 device. Not just those who speak the right language. Everyone.

A nonverbal child walks into a McDonald's and orders lunch by tapping a picture of a cheeseburger.

A stroke survivor walks into their town hall and gets a death certificate by tapping three tiles.

A deaf person walks into a hospital and tells the nurse where it hurts.

A refugee who speaks no English walks into a government office and applies for housing assistance.

None of them spoke a word. All of them were heard.

That's why we've started deploying TinkyTown in real public spaces — beginning with town halls and government buildings across Connecticut. 169 towns. Real addresses. Real departments. Real conversations. Not a prototype. Not a pitch deck. A system that works today, in buildings where people need it today.

Connecticut's Statewide Digital Accessibility Lead reviewed it and said every place needs to adopt it. The CT Tech Act is connecting us with all four regional assistive technology networks. We're actively rolling this out across towns — and this is just the beginning.

See our pilot program →    ADA compliance guide →    Try a live demo →

Anyone can be an advocate for the voiceless.

You don't need to be a doctor. You don't need to be a politician. You don't need to be a speech therapist. You don't need to write a check.

You just need to care.

Print a QR code. Put it on a counter. That's it. You just gave every nonverbal person who walks through that door their voice back. You became their advocate without saying a word.

A cashier at a restaurant who tapes a QR code next to the register — advocate.

A receptionist at a hospital who puts one on the check-in desk — advocate.

A town clerk who sets one on the counter next to the bell — advocate.

A teacher who hangs one on the classroom door — advocate.

A bus driver who sticks one above the fare box — advocate.

None of them needed permission. None of them needed a budget. None of them needed training. They just gave someone a way to be heard.

That's what TinkyTown is. Not a product. Not an app. A movement. Every QR code placed is one more building where silence isn't the only option. One more door where a nonverbal person walks in and walks out heard.

We're not asking the world to change. We're asking the world to put a piece of paper on a counter.

That's all it takes to be the voice for the voiceless.