Anne is six years older than me. Growing up, we were very poor, and my mother worked evenings at a factory in a small midwestern town. Not seeing my mother much, Anne took over much of the maternal support, and she was awarded the authority to give me and my younger sister permission to do things. Actually, going to Anne was much better than going to a parent as she could award permission, but never had an urge to punish us when we broke the rules. Therefore, we were a bit more willing to confess our activities to Anne and sometimes benefited from her sisterly advice. During those turbulent teenage years, Anne was always there for me, not only as a big sister, but as a mother and my best friend.When I was seventeen and had no money, I thought my only chance of going to college was if I could win a scholarship. I had an important interview for such an award. Anne at that time was struggling, surviving on a part-time job as she put herself through the local community college after serving in the army. I told her of my interview, that General Motors was sending me a bus ticket, and I would get to visit the city for my scholarship interview. It would be the first time I ever saw a city. I was excited about the adventure and asked her advice on what to wear. I showed her my best outfit and how I planned to be careful how I sat so that the hole in the bottom of my shoe would not be seen, but I wasn't sure what I would do if it rained. I showed her how I would stand with my arm slightly in front of me to hide the blemish from my factory-second pants from the farmers' market. My best blouse was a find at a yard sale, slightly faded but still pretty.Anne suggested that we go shopping, and we took the bus to the JCPenney store. She took me to the shoe department, and we found a beautiful pair of leather shoes on sale. She told me to try them on, but I thought it was just for fun as neither of us had ever owned anything that expensive before. Sometimes we did go shopping together and tried on things just to see what they looked and felt like, but we never could afford to buy them. It was like playing dress-up. But this time was different. Anne handed me the boxed shoes and said, "Here, I'll buy these for you.""But . . ." was all I could say."You deserve them," she replied. "This interview is important. I want to see you get that scholarship."I was speechless as I knew this was a lot of money for her, and she would probably have to eat nothing but ramen noodles for at least a month.I went to the interview and crossed my legs so that my beautiful new shoes shone with pride. I won the scholarship and became an engineer. Although they were nice leather everyday shoes, I didn't wear them much because they were so special. I hope Anne didn't think I did not like them or something. Now, after twenty years have passed, I still have that pair of shoes with me, and I just wear them on those little occasions when I need to feel special. It's kind of like having magic ruby slippers when you're homesick.
I started college when I was sixteen years old. It was a big, scary place, and I was young. I remember standing in line for registration with the hordes of other people. I felt so insecure and inadequate next to those who were my supposed peers. How would I ever measure up to these people who seemed so confident and sure of what they wanted?I didn't have any specific direction. I didn't have a clue as to what I wanted to do or be. College was just the next logical step. I felt very much out of place. To me, these people around me embodied my picture of the consummate college student. They stood there laughing with their friends, a cup of coffee in one hand, the schedule of classes in the other, discussing their options for the upcoming semester. Me, I had a list of classes on a piece of paper that I had painstakingly worked out with my big brother the night before. If I didn't get those particular classes, I was sunk. The idea of having a backup plan never even occurred to me. What would I do? I would just die. I knew that crying wasn't an option - I was in college for heaven's sake! Maybe throwing up would be a more socially acceptable reaction. I was alone, nervous and feeling like a cartoon in a museum of priceless paintings.When the first week of classes started, I had the daunting task of trying to figure out where my classes were in this city they called a school. I was already exhausted by the overwhelming task of trying to park my car. Feeling awkward, out of place and in a world of logistical nightmares, studying and getting an education were the last things on my mind. But I put one foot in front of the other and prayed I would find some solace somewhere. And I did.He walked into my life and into the huge auditorium that looked more like a movie theater than a classroom. But instead of taking a seat in the large lecture hall, he continued toward the front of the room to teach the class. He was smart and funny. I started to find any excuse to visit his office. This strange new world started to hold new meaning for me, and I began to explore it with more bravado. That was the good news. The bad news was that I had a crush on a man who was twice my age, married and had a family. But I felt helpless among all these new feelings and experiences I was having. Was this what becoming an adult meant? It all seemed too confusing.I excelled in his class. One day he asked me if I wanted to help him grade papers, file and do some office work - a teacher's aide of sorts. There was no need to ask me twice. As the weeks passed, we shared lots of time together. I learned how to drink coffee over long philosophical conversations. We became friends.Much to my surprise, out of the blue, he asked me if I would consider doing some baby-sitting for him. I was getting an invitation to become part of his private world. I was given directions to his house and told to come by that Thursday.I arrived at his house promptly at six. He greeted me at the door. "Thank you so much for doing this. It's very important to me." He explained that his wife was taking care of her ailing mother and had taken their eight-month-old baby with her. Lily, their six-year-old, needed special care, and he was hoping to find someone who would click with her."Lily has cystic fibrosis and spends too much of her little life in bed." My heart just broke as I saw the love he had in his eyes for his little girl.He took me into her room and, in the middle of a princess bed, sat this fair-haired little angel. She had some sort of breathing apparatus next to her bed that looked strangely out of place. What happened next was something I wasn't prepared for."This is the girl I told you about, Sweetie," he signed to his daughter. It turned out that Lily was deaf as well. I panicked. How would I communicate with her? What if there was an emergency?"Her oral skills are good enough that you will be able to understand her, and you'll probably pick up some sign language. I'll only be gone a couple of hours." He left me with emergency numbers and pertinent information, and then he was gone.I sat down on the bed with Lily, and her little fingers started flying. I shrugged my shoulders to let her know that I was lost. She smiled sweetly and then started to use her voice. She explained how it was easier to breathe when she let her fingers do her talking. That night I had my first lesson in sign language.Over the next couple of months, I spent a lot of time with Lily. As I got to know Lily's dad as a father and as a husband, the crush changed. Now I was falling in love with his daughter. She taught me so much: not only how to sign, but also how to appreciate each moment in my life and how worrying over needless things was just stupid. We laughed together when she taught me the sign for stupid, where you take the closed fist of your right hand and knock on the side of your forehead - as if you're knocking to try to get in. She laughed as I made believe that I was hurting myself by knocking on my head too hard. And she would sign, "You hurt yourself just as much when you really do worry." She was wise beyond her years. Besides giving me her love, Lily also gave me direction. I went on to get a bachelor's degree in special education with an emphasis in deaf education.I remained friends with Lily and her whole family throughout my college years and beyond. The crush I had on my college professor served me very well. I learned a great deal about life at the hands of a young child.Some years later, I was asked to sign the Lord's Prayer at Lily's funeral. Everyone there told stories about how this one small life made such a big difference to so many. And, as Lily taught me when she showed me the sign for I love you, "Make sure when you use this sign that you really mean it."
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Now I live in Viet Nam. Do you love your country? Of course, you say yes immediately. So I want anybody read this post express your love. I really prefer to know more about cultures, histories, customs, traditions,etc... of all countries around the world. I hope we will know more about each other by sharing more and more. Besides, I will improve my English skills and knowledge thank to your help. You can express your feeling, give books, videos, or anything you like. I also tell you more about my country- a traditional country with 4000 year culture is an interesting place for finding out the aged-old values, festivals,...I look forward to seeing from you!
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