CHAPTER NINE
Monday evening, we piled into the car and headed for Batavia High School. They taught American Sign Language at the school. Introductory course were night classes, once a week for eight weeks. Brenda and I sat in back. I kept my notebook and pen close by. My cane rested between my sister and me.
I kept looking at my hands, studying my fingers.
I curled them in and out, making a variety of shapes with them, as if I was already signing. How in the world was I going to learn to communicate with my hands? I got the feeling I’d be walking around with a pen and pad for the rest of my life.
I watched Brenda talking to Mom and Dad and then saw Dad reach for the radio knob. Normally, this would be a time when Brenda and I would argue, “I want this song”, or “You got to pick the las
