Book Review: Milk and Oranges by Charlene Wexler

Hello Everyone,

The Global E-Book Awards are over and the winners announced! I'd like to say congratulations to you all and it was an honor to be a judge for this awards ceremony. Having said that, let the reviews follow.

This week I am reviewing Milk and Oranges by Charlene Wexler. This a collection of short stories. Most, if not all, are from the author's own life. There were two stories that really got me. The fist was called "The Cruel Club". It was an amazing short that made me cry (yes, this guy does that once in a while). It dealt with grief and loss, more specifically mothers who have lost a child. In this case it was related to cancer. I found the emotional part of it gripping, to say the least.

The other story was entitled "Motorcycles are Dangerous". It is somewhat related to "The Cruel Club". It's about her dying son (leukemia), who wants a motorcycle. It's a very short bit, but the emotion is again raw and I found it interesting.

Unfortunately these are the only good stories from this book. For me, the remaining thirty-three stories were not good. I found many of them to be poorly written, and not because of poor editing (editing was good) or poor command of the English language. It was just that the stories were relatively boring. If there was something special about these stories they were lost on me. Maybe "I had to be there", or something like that. I find it somewhat difficult to say that an author should have gotten more in depth when it comes to short stories, but a little more wouldn't have hurt. If Wexler wants to make these more interesting to the reader, they need a little more punch or something. I just wasn't seeing it. There was also a slight hint of "holier than thou" attitude in some of the stories. It wasn't present in all of them, for sure. But it reminded me of one of my aunt-in laws and how she is always keeping up appearances. It's weird, but it didn't sit right with me. It actually made me kind of dislike the author.

I wish I could give this book more than two stars, but I can't. That's where it is. If "The Cruel Club" and "Motorcycles are Dangerous" were their own book apart from the other thirty plus stories, I'd give it four stars. So if you really want to read those two stories, I'd say go get her e-book. I believe it is available at most online e-book retailers. Otherwise, if your reading tastes are anything like mine, good luck.

Until next time,

R. M.

A Look at a CODA's Deaf Family - Update

Hello to all,

A while back I wrote a post entitled "A Look at a CODA's Deaf Family". In it, I had talked about a Deaf man that I know who was coming to the end of his time with us on Earth. Sadly, I have to say that his time came about two weeks ago. Earlier today was his memorial service, held at the school for the deaf (or one "i" hand tapped twice on top of the other, if you will) where he attended and later worked.

In my previous post I had mentioned what he meant to me as a member of my Deaf family. I won't get into that again, but I do want to talk about the service today. I had the privilege of meeting his Deaf family.

I have to mention first about my own father's passing four years ago. My sister and I had decided to split up the responsibilities of that came along with the process of funeral/ceremonial decisions, notifying everyone, writing the obituary, and seeing our mother was ok, etc etc. I had asked to handle speaking with the funeral director to make the service a little more "Deaf" friendly. One of the things to be done was to have no aisles of chairs in the middle of the viewing room. I did not want my father's Deaf friends to have to look at the back of each others' heads. In an attempt to allow everyone to see what everyone else was signing, we arranged the chairs in a large "U" around the room. It was good for about 40 or 50 people. When people began to arrive, we quickly ended up with far more people than anticipated. Friends came from all over and we had to put chairs in the middle of the room in rows/aisles, anyways. At least we tried, right? What we ended up with was upwards of close to 100 people. Some had to view the service from the other room because we ran out of space!

I say this because at the time, it really impressed upon me what "Deaf family" means. I remembered so many faces of the people I used to see at Deaf Club meetings and get-togethers from my childhood and they were all so wonderful. I also saw many faces of people I had never met before, but whom were great friends with my father at one point in time or another. It really helped me see how much Deaf people cherish each other and how close they all were. That is what a Deaf family is.

With that said let me move onto today. This service was at least twice the size of my father's and held in the school gymnasium. Friends and family gave some touching and personal speeches. There was also a closing prayer conducted by a Deaf Father. That is something I had never seen before. It was such a cool thing to witness. The reception was held in the cafeteria, a slideshow in the meeting room, and the school's museum, something this man had the largest hand in creating, was open for all to view. There was also a video camera setup for people to give their goodbye wishes, share stories, and anything else anyone felt had merit to mention. I saw former teachers and students come today, too. He had reached a lot of people in his time.

And just like any typical get-together in the Deaf Community (with hearing people involved), the Deaf will stay until they are told to leave. The crowd was over half out by the time myself and ELF had left, and nearly all of them were either Deaf, CODAs, or other members of the man's family. And here they all were, his Deaf family. It amazed me to see it yet again, and I cannot explain in any decent amount of words how much it touched me to know that even though most of the Deaf people there were not a part of my Deaf family, the man's wife went out of her way to make me feel like I was part of their's, no matter how small a part it really is.

I guess this is the only way I can explain it. Compared to probably just about everyone else there, I was little more than an acquaintance to this man and his wife. Most of their blood family I had never met or seen until today. I think it's that connection a CODA has or can have with other Deaf people, without even having spent a great deal of time with them, that makes it a Deaf family for each other.

With so little, in relative terms, his life had a significant impact on me. For everyone else there who was much more a part of his Deaf family, I can only imagine how his life impacted them. I have to believe that its value is exponential. Everyone who attended, and everyone who could not but did so in spirit, is a better person because of his impact in our lives. That's the power of Deaf family, and I am honored to have felt its impact again. I love you, man.

Until next time,

R. M.

A Look at a CODAs Deaf Family

In my last post I talked about "doors being closed" when a CODA loses a Deaf parent or both of them. When I lost my father his door had closed, but thankfully I had opened others before his passing. It was a gift that my parents had given me as a child and I realized I can keep all through life. It’s the ability to see the doors I can open. It keeps me in a Deaf family, and "family", whether it's your real kin, or the closest of friends that feel like kin, it means your home. Wherever home is, your family is there.

My family is ELF, the many Deaf people whom I love dearly, and my hearing family and friends. They probably rank in that order, too. Any time I am with any of these people, I feel like I am home. I find I cannot stay away from Deaf people for too long, or I start to get homesick. A big part of me belongs there, and sometimes being between the hearing and Deaf worlds can be a tricky balancing act.

My parents are the only Deaf people in my biological family. Everyone else in that family is hearing from my siblings to my grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, you name it. I do love them, but being around them doesn’t give me that same feeling of being home as it does being around other Deaf people. Often times I have wondered how great it would have been to have had an entirely Deaf biological family.

I bring this up because a Deaf man I know is going through what is likely to be the last stages of his life. He is a man that would be around my grandfathers' ages, and he may be one of the kindest people I have ever met. We met through our jobs and even though we don’t see each other perhaps more than a couple of times a month, I feel a bond to him.

Every time we come across each other and have a conversation, we almost always talk about our families and update each other. It's kind of a Deaf culture thing to do, and like many Deaf people do with each other, the conversations can go on, which is never a bad thing. It's been like this with the two of us, too. When my father passed away, I really began to look at this man as that kind of a father figure. He always made that time to talk to me and ask me how I've been doing, and he's always kept me updated on his family. In truth, he feels like what I would have wanted in a grandfather.

My actual grandfathers were not the most horrible people in the world by any stretch, but when I saw them struggle to communicate with my parents because they never took the time to learn sign language of any kind, it really bothers me deep down inside. Despite my knowledge of how Audism kept them from choosing to do the most sensible thing, part of me is still upset with their choice to not learn. It's a hot button for me, I suppose, and seeing deaf children with hearing parents who are doing the same thing always reminds me of it. It makes me realize how much influence Audism has and how few of us really know the truth of it. Either way, though, they were my grandfathers and I loved them both. But they were not Deaf.

The things I loved about my real grandfathers are things I love about my dying Deaf friend. He treats me like family and I love him for it. So in that sense I have to say he is the grandfather that I always wanted. I'm not upset that he isn’t, or that I had the grandfathers that I had instead of him. In truth, I am very thankful to have known this man because when I'm around him I feel at home, with my Deaf family.

I saw him yesterday in the hospital and he was looking ok. He was up for conversation, and we talked about fishing spots in the small town where I grew up. Apparently he had fished around the same places when he went up to visit his son who lived even further north from where I had. Small world, right? Just adds to that family feel, I guess. I don’t know if I will get to see him again before he leaves this world, but I believe our last conversation is just what it should have been, like nothing had changed. Here's to you, my friend. May whatever lies ahead for you be everything you ever wanted in this life that you did not get. You are more than deserving of it.

With much CODA love,

R. M.

Closed and Open Doors - A CODA Experience

Recently a good friend of mine lost her husband. They are both Deaf, and their hearing daughter (fellow CODA) is another friend of mine. Both mother and daughter are obviously grieving over their loss of someone so special and meaningful to them. Even though I had never met this man, I am saddened for them. ELF and I went to his wake to pay our respects, and seeing the two of them their with the pain in their eyes really affected me. I went through this with my father just over four years ago.

Part of me still grieves the loss of my father, and it makes me want to go on and on about it from time to time. I wish to avoid that here because I don't want to take anything away from what my friends are going through. But there was one part of it I wanted to talk about. This kind of goes back to one of my earliest posts, where I had mentioned that losing my father was closing a door to the Deaf world for me. A fellow CODA from facebook wanted me to elaborate on it, and now seems like the best time to do so.

Growing up, my exposure to the Deaf community was through my parents. I learned to sign before I could speak, went to all the Deaf club meetings with my family, and know all of their friends and children. It was an experience that so many hearing people in this world never get, and I consider myself to be blessed for that experience. It has taught me a lot about the world.

When my father died, the door that he opened for me to the Deaf community swung wide open for about one week. I helped my mother contact so many of his friends through video phone (my mother has an aversion to newer technology, and still uses a TTY to make phone calls - for those in the know I can see your head nodding "I understand") to inform them of the terrible news. Many of his friends came by my parents' place to visit that week, share stories, and give us copies of their pictures of him for us to display at the funeral home. I still hold on to all those pictures and will never get rid of them. The week finally ended with his service, and the number of Deaf friends who came to say goodbye nearly overwhelmed me. What a community, despite the physical distances from each other.

When the reception had ended, they all went their separate ways, and the door was closed. I still talk on occasion with a couple of his friends, which is nice, but it isn't the same. We don't talk about him even when we want to, but catching up with each other is still enjoyable. But it isn't the same. Natural feelings of talking with a loved one so close to you disappears and cannot be replaced by their friends. Instead, what you get is the reminder that who you really want is no longer there, and suddenly that door seems very close to your face, as if it was just shut on you again. I don't think it's a feeling that will ever go away when I see his friends. So there is my closed door.

As for my mother, she is no longer connected with the Deaf community. I won't get into the reasons behind it, but suffice it to say, her door to the Deaf community is closed to me. My only expereince with anything Deaf through her are the trace whispers that she herself possesses. I'm a little bit bitter about that, but thats a story for my next book, to be sure.

When I grew up and moved away from home, I really lost almost all contact with Deaf people for a while. Aside from family visits, I ran into other Deaf people randomly. It took several years before I found a job in a school for the deaf. It was there that I had opened my own door to the Deaf community again. What's nice about this is that it is a different group of Deaf people being so physically far away from my parents. Nearly all of them have never met my parents or recognize their names. Being accepted into their community is something I hold dear to my heart, and when I really stop to think about it, I owe this to my parents. Without them, my path in life may very well likely have never crossed with paths of Deaf people in any meaningful way, and I never would have had an opportunity to be in their world. Another great part of this particular local community is that because my parents aren't known here, I feel like this is my community. I think you understand what I mean.

So my father's door was closed. True. But because of my parents and what they gave to me, I was able to find other doors that cannot be closed by anyone but myself. And for my fellow CODA who lost her father, the same is true for her. I know she will enjoy that gift from them for the rest of her life. Perhaps all this is true for most of us CODAs who have lost one or both of our parents. Doors close and others open, and if others havent opened for you CODAs despite your longing for it to happen, all I can say is go find one. If you miss what's in the next room, go open a door. Your Deaf parents gave you the ability to find them on your own. I promise you won't regret it.

A good night to everyone, more posts to come....

R. M.