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ASL Exposure

Many times I have heard that hearing people assumed that all deaf person are fluent in American Sign Language, yet they are learning that it is a myth. I have been deaf since birth and I was not exposed to the world of ASL until later at school. At home, my parents were told not to learn the language because their doctor believed that it would hinder my ability to form the language required for the speaking world. He believed that I would not function "normally" out in the world full of hearing people. Talk about dispelling his myth! I will get into that later, but first let me share how I learned the language. The first time I saw a signed word was in the school cafeteria. My classmate suddenly threw up and it spilled over his tray full of lunch food. The teacher quickly puts down the silverware. Yes, at that time we had a nice hot meal with divided tray and silver cutlery not plasticwares. She placed her hand over his forehead and quickly signed a word by using open hand wi...
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My deaf life

I know in my heart that my father wanted to share his experience of my life. Before I was born, my birth, and when they discovered my hidden disability as a young child, how he watched me grow and his last words. It was not found in his memoir, and he closed it with "I've had a hell of a good life considering it overall. I've had many outstanding events not mentioned in my writings. And I've had one extremely bitter experience that has taken me years to learn to deal with." I am fairly confident that the bitter experience he mentioned was the loss of his son, my brother Paul. He ended with, "First, as I've told her already, Bernice is the nicest thing that ever happened to me." Bernice was my mother, his wife of 50 years. Let me start at the beginning; I was born Severely Deaf with Sensorineural Loss. Currently my deafness is measured as profoundly. I use the BTE , behind the ear, hearing aid in my right ear and a Cochlear Implant in my left ea...

I know, it's been awhile...

I know, I haven't been posting a blog for a long while. It was forgotten until I received an email reminding me to keep the subscription going. When I saw the title, I was confused. I had no clue who wrote it, so I clicked on the link to take me here. Oh it was me! I wrote it. A lot has happened since I last wrote it. My mother passed in 2014 and we buried her with my dad's ashes in the cardboard box measuring eight inches by five inches by five inches at her feet. Along with them was the broken watch my brother wore the day he was killed in 1973. My mother held onto her prized possession that identify him. I was oblivious to the fact that she took down all the photos of my brother until they bought the house when my father retired. The smiling baby that sort of resembles the happy Buddha in the framed eight by ten photo was hanging in the guest bedroom. It was as if she wanted to keep him close by. They rarely spoke of my brother. It wasn't that they were ashamed. They...

Pennies from Heaven?

Pennies from Heaven It's been seven years since my father passed. Sitting here in the comfort of my home and browsing through the FaceBook posts, I spotted a post from my relative sharing the pain in the loss of his twin sister, I couldn't help but to reminisce the many unusual encounters I experienced soon after the loss of my aging father. It was one of those things that I've struggled, whether to dismiss it as a passing fancy, or take it as a sign from my father. I've found pennies in places that defied explanation. Pennies that seem to point at an object with a message. A few weeks after the completion of my sister's house that was rebuilt to suit a multi-generational need, so my mother can live with her during her final stage of her life; my sister emptied the family room at my parents' house that was formally a makeshift bedroom for her and her husband, so I can vacuum and shampoo the carpet. During the vacuuming phase; I was running alongside the ba...