(Ch. 2 - 4 of my story of how I became deaf…)

Photo by: Jack Illingworth

As early as I can remember, I was lifting my voice to the heavens. I easily recall myself as a round-faced little girl rocking to and fro with Mama each Sunday at mass boldly singing our prayers and songs from the Catholic hymnals. In my memories, I can see my younger brother and I looking up at Mama singing virtuously in church, our eyes filled with wonder and adoration as they peered through our whispy, toe-headed bangs. With Mama’s prompting, we’d lift our dimpled chins and pint-sized voices high up toward the rafters, joining the other parishioners in song…

Photo by: Rhian

My mother’s voice was pure joy to me. She always sang out confident and proud, and I learned to do the same. I felt significance and belonging when I sang in church with Mama. And, as I grew, no matter where I was, singing always made me feel like I was home.

I grew up singing all the traditional lullabies and nimble childhood tunes that Mama sang to us. Whether she realized it or not, Mama used to sing to us kids all the time. Waking up, dressing, cleaning up or going to sleep always seemed to be accompanied by a lyrical verse or two. She would be washing our dishes and scrubbing the pans, humming a metered tune. Or, she’d sing some sweet, little melody while brushing our hair, which always seemed to ease the tangles. And for some reason, Mama always seemed to break out in song whenever it rained.

Photo by: Mirando

Mama’s rainy-day songs would teach us things like how important it was to catch falling stars, put them in our pockets, and save them for dark or rainy days. Her wet-weather music would also teach us how to stop and listen to the rhythm of our world around us.

Photo by: Selahattin Ozpalabiyiklar

My brother and I would be riding in the car with Mama, waiting for a stoplight to change, when she’d lean back and tell us in a hushed voice to listen to the raindrops falling on our car window and to hear their music. We’d both sit very still in the back seat, tilting our ears to listen to the rain sprinkle onto the glass, or to hear a downpour pelt the roof of our car. As the raindrops pattered upon the windshield, Mama would lead us in song about little raindrop soldiers coming down from the sky to water the trees and flowers. Her song told us to listen for their drums and their marching feet. As our ears detected the “rat-tat-tat” and the “pitter-pat” of the little raindrop soldiers on our car windows, we’d squeal with delight!

Photo by: Steve Jurvetson

We used to live a few blocks from a railroad track. We drove across those tracks daily on our way to school or into town. Occasionally, we would see a train gliding along the tracks parallel to our car. This was cause for excitement because Mama would always make driving alongside of a train a musical adventure! I loved that her songs were animated and sprinkled with musical sound effects. She had a way of making funny lilts, tilts and cries in her voice that would make us laugh whenever she sang to cheer on the little red caboose chugging with a stack full of smoke at the end of the train. Mama chose songs that taught us about the rhythm of life. We learned that everything had it’s own music.

Photo by: James Jordan

My mother was not the only one who brought music into my life. My father also played a major role. Daddy had a natural ear for music, and he loved to sing and play guitar. He plunked out some mean rhythm and blues on those resonant strings, and his woeful ballads would sometimes take us dancing and twirling on the dark side of the moon.

Photo by: James Jordan

Daddy also loved to sing songs from the Jesus Christ Superstar album that he once bought Mama, probably as a token of apology for one of his many drunken spells. Daddy wasn’t Catholic like Mama, but he loved the rock and roll music on that album. It was a like a peace offering in a way, a place of common ground where he and Mama could meet or make up after a row.

I loved to hear Daddy sing. His deep voice was so different from Mama’s, yet he had quite a range. It always fascinated me when he used his higher falsetto voice, and like Mama, would make it lilt or cry. Even if he had our audience, there were times when Daddy would get lost in his own music and forget we were there. At these times we would sit mesmerized and invisible at his feet, dizzy from the pungent scent of the heavy Brute cologne that he wore to cover the sweet and sour smell of the Thunderbird Wine on his breath. We would swoon with the wordless scats, rumbling hums, and lilting cries that would ride his Adam’s Apple.

Photo by: Russ Morris

Daddy’s sense of rhythm was keen and hypnotic. I remember watching him tap out rhythms on the coffee table with his colored pencils. He used them to draw out the Indian patterns and designs for his bead work. Making Native American crafts was Daddy’s hobby. He made necklaces, breastplates, headdresses, tomahawks, peace pipes, leather fringe coats and moccasins, which could often be seen on his feet, tapping in rhythm to his own inner music.

Sometimes, he would entertain us with a pulsating round of ham-bone now and then that would send us reeling with laughter, and tender, pink skin as we tried to imitate his rapid thigh-to-chest hand movements.

Photo by: Suzy Holm

I’m sure that Daddy got his musical talents from his mother, my Grammie Lee. Grammie was one of the most musical people I knew. She not only sang and danced all the time, but she played a lot of fun instruments too. Grammie played guitars, mandolins, organ keyboard pianos, harmonicas, mouth harps, and even spoons. She learned how to do ham-bone too, and got to be pretty good at it. She and Daddy used to really get going at times! Watching them suck, spit, and blow air through their pursed lips, and use their hands to strike out rhythms on their thighs and chests was like watching a spirited episode of Hee-Haw, or being transported through time to one of the Texas farms of Grammie’s childhood….

(Footnote: Don’t give up on the story yet. It’s important for me to share what life was like before I became deaf so that people understand the significant transition that occurred when I became deaf — a transformation I not only understand and accept, but also celebrate! Keep on reading! More coming soon….)

Posted by LaRonda on Saturday, July 14th, 2007 at 7:18 am.