CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I saw the sign on the Interstate welcoming us to “Rochester, An All America City.” Overall, the trip was supposed to take less than an hour from Batavia, but it seemed to last a lifetime. Just when I wondered if we’d ever make it, Mom turned and signed: Almost there.
We’d received all kinds of brochures in the mail two days after Dad called and made the appointment for a visit. At first I flipped through the stuff, thinking, who cares about the history of a school? But bits and pieces caught my interest, so I went back and read it all.
I thought it was cool that the school was started in the1800s by a couple that had a deaf daughter.
As we first drove up on the school’s campus, it looked to me like nothing but a couple of big, old buildings. The property was lined with
