In Silence: Growing Up Hearing in a Deaf World

16. College

16 College Take fast hold of instruction, let her not go; Keep her, for she is thy life. —Proverbs : There was a betrayal of the words I had stored, of the dreams I had hidden from myself. My father refused to allow me to go to college. “You are seventeen now. Now you must go to work, help support me and family. I am tired. I work hard. Now it is your turn.” I looked at him with loathing, not caring, not understanding the burdens he carried within his soul. He too wanted to be free of the weight. And he wanted me to help him. I wanted to shout, “Leave me alone! Haven’t I done enough? I want to go to college. I want to be somebody, I want to be myself.” I turned without a word, without a sign, and walked out of the door of our apartment determined never to return. I was angry. And anger was a forbidden emotion. The word no was just as forbidden. No meant incurring displeasure and I was raised to please and nurture. This time I wanted what I wanted. I ran away. Not far. Just across the street to my friend Julia’s apartment. I stayed there until night fell. I wanted to enter col-  lege, where there would be no parents’ nights, where there would be no pitying eyes and heartfelt sighs from teachers who were shocked by my parents’ deafness. I didn’t want delicate treatment by my teachers, I didn’t want my classmates to stare at me. My mother came looking for me. She knocked at my friend’s door, and I heard her voice inquisitively sound my name when the door was opened. When she saw me she said in voice, “No hot stammer now Ruth.” I smiled, remembering my discovery of the meaning of her words. “You never angry, why now? Stop. Not nice, be so angry. Come home, you go to a college, I promise you.” “I am a girl. And it is not important for girls to go to college, just boys. That is what Ben said. I hate him. He does not understand . I want to learn. I want to be a teacher.” “Come, we explain all to your father. He is sorry. He tell me it is okay you go to college. Say good-bye to your friend Julia.” We walked slowly down the street. My father walked toward us. I pulled away from him. He touched my shoulder and signed solemnly, “No be angry at Ben. I love you daughter Ruth. You graduate high school now and in September you go to college to study, do what you love best, always to study to learn. I go to college with you, you teach me.” He signed his language as an ancient stylized scribe. The calligraphy of his hands startled me with its fluid precision. The signs punched the air, the language accurate. He saw what I heard, I heard what he saw and we understood one another. And we did not understand; our language sense split us apart, separated us. And I was to be his teacher. College   Growing Up Hearing While I was still at Walton High School, I watched the Navy women, the Waves, dressed smartly in blue and white, marching in formation on Hunter College’s campus grounds from my classroom windows. Now, with the war over, the Bronx campus was once more the domain of young civilian girls, and the school opened its doors each semester to another group of students. The first day of class I walked over winter grounds feeling the snow underfoot, for the moment buoyant, thrilled to be part of this new world. And then I entered the college gymnasium. I was alone, the piano flush against the wall. I was early and my new ballet shoes scuffed across the floor on my way to the black upright . I looked around, saw no one, and with my finger I stole a note. Plunk. I could dance but I wouldn’t play the piano. I plunked again and another note. I was making music. Bang. The dancers came in, dribbled into the gymnasium. The dance instructor was late. A raven-haired aspiring ballerina approached me at the piano. “Here,” she said. “See what I brought. Hold it.” She turned a key. It was a music box, a box...