My treasure, my beginning…

MishkaZena said: “Cool. As there is little documentation on the personal history of deaf people in deaf schools in the old days, these stories will be very valuable. They can be archived for deaf people and scholars to study for decades. I definitely will be looking forward to these stories ”

It sparked something in me that I haven’t felt in a long time, really. When I was growing up I always thought I would be writing these stories down. Just in case Deafness goes away and we’re just a memory. I just wanted the world to know that I had a very good childhood—that my deafness was an enhancement to my life. Like my friend said, I missed out on hearing, yes; but, if I were hearing, I’d miss out on what I had. It’s not that one is better than the other, just different.

I grew up different, I did not grow up going to school 15-30 minute bus ride away from home. I lived in the dorms—I shared a bedroom with someone else, pretty much, for my entire life. I am comfortable with that. I went to Virginia School for the Deaf and Blind in Staunton, Virginia in 1990, I believe. I was seven, maybe eight years old. Now see, my experience might differ than the other Deaf students there.

I have heard stories where the students were elated to go back to school, to get away from home and be with their peers, their language. School was their family, their home, their lives, literally. As for me, that was not the case, my parents are Deaf, and my family knows sign language. My sister is Deaf (currently a Gallaudet student). ASL is the primary language of my household.

All my parents’ friends were Deaf, my friends were Deaf—some were hearing but they all knew how to sign. I lived a life thinking that the hearing society was just “out there.” They pretty much existed in movies, TV, in a store…that’s all. Imagine how devastated I was when my parents told me that they were going to leave me at VSDB for school and that I won’t be coming home except for the weekends.

What?! Why?!

Understand that, indeed, the school had Deaf staff, teachers, and hearing people who spoke ASL. I was not out of my element there; I could communicate fully well with any one of them. It wasn’t that. My parents were leaving me in a place full of strangers. Unbelievable. The previous school I went to was, Virginia School for the Deaf and the Blind at Hampton; which was a mere twenty minute ride from home. See the sudden change in lifestyle—being totally disconnected from my family and old friends. I couldn’t handle it for a few months—when I did, school wasn’t so bad for me.

After all, I ended up there for a decade.

There was one incident that I remember vividly during my first few months there. I wanted to go home, that was the only thought in my head. I refused to work in school sitting in a corner, crying. Then go to the dorm, think of million of ways to run away from school. One day, I got it. See, they finally allowed me to take walks around the campus—I guess they felt that I needed to get some fresh air and get acclimated with the campus. Okay, but they would always have an escort for me. Most of the time it was Jia, I didn’t like him very much because he would never let me leave campus. Ever.

This one time, he couldn’t do it; so, they gave me another high school student to escort me around campus. He wasn’t particularly bright, to say the least. I managed to convince him to take a different route. The one that would take me off campus and I’d run away from him. That was the plan, yes, indeed.

It nearly worked.

Just about when we were going to step out of the borders of the school, a station wagon drives up the entrance. We keep walking; acting like the car never existed. My goal was to go home. In that car was a lady whose name was, Linda Blehm. She stopped the car and stepped out.

We had to stop. No use ignoring this anymore.

I remember she was wearing a yellow shirt with a beige long skirt and she had on brown shoes. At seven, eight years old, eye level for me was her waist; so, of course, I noticed her shoes. She smiled and looked at me—this was a happy woman, like this situation was quite humorous. “What’s your name?” She bent down to my height with a gigantic grin plastered all over her face.

I looked down, “Ben Vess.”

She let out a good laugh, tilting herself backwards, shaking her head. “I know your mom and your dad! Don’t worry, go back to dorm.” Still smiling, “I will call your parents, what you want me to tell them?”

I was furious. I could barely even think. “I want to go home.”

“No,” she shook her head. “Go to dorm; wait for mom and dad come see you.”

She got up and spoke to the other student, her demeanor changed, she wasn’t happy. “Go back to dorm, you’re not supposed to bring him here. You know better.”

I refused to eat dinner later that night and breakfast the next morning. I went to Student Life Office waiting for them to call my parents and take me home.

Later on, I learned that Ms. Linda Blehm was Miss Linda Collins, Class of ’72 from VSDB. My mom was part of class of ’73 and my dad was class of ’74. She went to Gallaudet and became a teacher at her alma mater. Also, she was a good friend of Camilla Ballard, who was my favorite babysitter when I was a baby.

It was then when I realized that if I had kept going, she would probably have took me home and called my parents so that I wouldn’t wander all over the streets and my parents would come up.

It’d be good for them to see old friends as well. At the time of my enrollment, many of the teachers already had taught my parents and were more than willing to welcome the next generation. That incident happens to be one of the most vivid first memories I have of the school.

A little background: I was from the tidewater area of Virginia and the school was 4 hours well into the mountains shut off from most of civilization. I’m telling you it was not unusual to see animals like deer, rabbits, squirrels and sorts. Sometimes skunks. When you’re a child in that kind of place, it has a magical feel. The school was built before the Civil War and became a hospital for the soldiers at one point.

Ghost stories were rampant. Everybody saw something. Some were as old as the school itself, others were more recent.

There were trees everywhere, hills, and grass. If you wanted to go from one building to another, you probably had to go up or down something. The campus was located near a historic downtown area. The entire neighborhood looked like it is stuck in Woodrow Wilson’s (Staunton, Virginia is his birthplace, walking distance from VSDB) period—although they do have electricity and cars now, the feel is the same.

So, there was always some kind of magic in the air. Little flurries of it.

This is my introduction to the stories. Inspired by MishkaZena, I’m going to make vlogs and written entries every now and then sharing these stories. My stories through my eyes.

Bisous,
Der Sankt