by Janeel Hew
Hands that speak all I needed to hear.
In history, time spans endlessly. I, on the other hand, need go back only 40 years to find my favorite person of Deaf Culture in my life.
I wish that I could tell you his name, but I never knew it. I did know his smile, his eyes, and his touch–he could make my world go away. His hands are the most precious gift that God has given to him to share with others for I believe they hold his heart.
Perhaps he might one day read this and realize how much of an impact he made on me?
In the 1970’s I grew up on Greenberry Dr. in Southern Ca. We had a true melting pot when it came to the children there. Different races, religions, illnesses and abilities. It was a great place for learning how to love your neighbor. We moved away when I was still in elementary school. And the one person that I’ll always remember is the boy that never spoke a word…
I would wait for him to get off of his small yellow bus, that I always wished that I could ride on with him. I wanted to talk with him…I wanted to play with him…he was my very first crush, and I couldn’t even tell him my name. He was older than me and I probably made a fool of myself too. But, I would still wait…he would look at me with such understanding eyes as I would try to greet him.
Eyes that could look deeper than any others. And smile at me…with a smile that seemed to say…”Silly little girl.”, and “Sorry, our worlds are different.”
Yet at the same time be so understanding of my frustration in not being able to talk with him. And then he would make both my waiting and frustration all worth it…with a single touch…my heart would beat so fast as I watch his hand raise up and rub the top of my head. Then again he would smile, and walk away…go into his house, and I would have to wait another day for the small yellow bus before I would see him again.
My father is a jazz musician, and I would hide under the baby grand piano, so that I could feel the music…Oh, I can hear, but for me feeling life is just as important as life itself. It was far greater than seeing the ugliness of the drunken drug addict whose music has such beauty. The touch of a raging father and the weakness of my mother’s constant kidney health…would all go away…even if it was just for a moment…by the touch of a boy, who never spoke a word…yet said exactly what I needed to hear!!!
Where ever you are…Thank You.
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