Rushing's Ramblings

Monica was born to parents who became profoundly deaf at a young age due to early childhood illnesses.  ASL (American Sign Language) is her first language, although her hearing is normal. She earned a doctorate in hearing education and spent her career teaching deaf students at the university level.  Her current project is writing stories about leaders in the deaf community to inspire those who are hearing impaired that they, too, can achieve greatness. Monica is a treasured new friend who recently related a touching story about the death of her parents.  After they died, well-meaning friends would try to comfort her by saying, "Well, now they are in a better place where they will be able to hear."  My brilliant friend responded, "No, they are in a place now where EVERYONE signs!"

At the tender age of eight, my grandson, Patrick, has already experienced heartbreak. Patrick is a sensitive soul who enjoys attention and hugs when he's not racing around the block on his bicycle or shooting hoops in the driveway. He loves to talk…constantly, but it's not the type of childhood chatter you would expect. Oh, no, his monologues are full of facts about tsunamis, rip tides, plans on starting his own business selling hot dogs, or the details of a tree house he wants to have built with his $1.50 in savings. How does one jam that much information into an eight-year-old brain? It's never-ending and astounding at the same time. Patrick is incredibly close to his mother, Marcy, and rarely lets her out of his sight when he's home. Recently, Marcy was calling his name and searching for him throughout the house. He rarely spends time in his bedroom, but that's where she finally found him, looking up at the ceiling with a sad look. She asked, "What's wro

  Her carefree demeanor belied the horror of her brutalized arms. The inside of both of her forearms was covered in two-to-three-inch scars going in different directions. The newest cuts were wrapped in bandages with fresh blood seeping through. I had recently graduated with a master's degree in counseling psychology and landed a job as a caseworker in the Dallas Mental Illness Court. My primary responsibility was locating community resources for individuals due for a hearing where they might be committed to the state institution for the mentally ill. The institutional placement was avoided when I found alternative living situations. Although this was over forty years ago, the memory of this young woman in her mid-20s, who I'll name "Ann," remains clear. When we first met, I was instantly transfixed by her story. She was raised in Highland Park, an exclusive town of wealthy people carved out in the middle of north Dallas. Her father was a well-known CPA and owned one

I sit under a sacred old oak tree with Paddy at my feet while listening to a young man share his enchanting music with a small crowd. In this picturesque setting of beautiful Texas wildflowers surrounding us are dancing toddlers. Parents, grandparents, and everyone alike revels in their uninhibited joy. Suddenly, I spot the back of someone’s head walking by. I wonder if it’s the man I once dearly loved decades ago. I rarely think of him now other than to ask our daughter how her father is doing. Soon, once-lost memories start flooding back, but mostly, the treasured times when Marcy was one of those toddlers dancing and the three of us were a family. Sadness quickly overtakes me, and I wonder why we didn’t try hard enough to hang on to love and our family and what it would be like now if we had. Would we be one of those couples bringing their grandchildren to listen to music? Regrets are like storm clouds on a sunny day. I force myself to be grateful I had both good and bad past experi

I recently joined a group of much younger adults for cocktails. Most of the time was spent listening to one 40-ish woman dominate the conversation. I don’t believe she ever took a breath the entire time, nor did she stop eating, although she probably weighed less than 100 pounds. Sigh. My hearing is terrible, even with pricey hearing aids. Still, I got the jest of her passionate opinion about children with disabilities in regular classrooms. She objected to the integration of those children due to disruptive behavior on the part of some of the children. However, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I asked her how she would feel if her children had special needs. Would she want them segregated into a separate room or institutionalized? She immediately clarified that she wished school administrators “spread out” children with disabilities and have only one or two per classroom. I wanted to give her a brief lesson on how millions of parents, teachers, and advocates worked long and hard to en