"You mean, you don't speak Puerto Rican?"

I shook my head. "There's no such thing as speaking Puerto Rican. It's Spanish." At 7 years old, I was a smartass. I was also tired of being socially isolated and experienced a lot of anger.

"Okay, Spanish. You're Puerto Rican, and don't speak Spanish?"

I had my hands behind my back and I was leaning up against the school building at recess. I had just gotten my first pair of glasses, so I wasn't allowed to play at recess because my parents couldn't afford to get another pair if they broke. I was terrified at the visual of having to tape up broken glasses; as if I didn't have enough reasons to get picked on.

I scuffed the tip of my sneaker into the ground. I kept my eyes down. "No, I speak English because we're in America."

The curly haired Puerto Rican laughed with her friend. She turned to her friend and said something in Spanish. They looked at me, laughed, and skipped away.

I sighed. I looked up at the sky and prayed for recess to go by faster. I took comfort in my academics because I never disappointed myself.

My first language was Spanish. My parents told me that when I took the test to get into Pre-K, they were told my English inadequate. They put everything they had into teaching me English. Although I don't remember any of this, I assume that at some level I understood the urgency for me to focus on learning English and that speaking Spanish was holding me back to some degree. Something has stuck with me that made me hostile to learning Spanish for a long time.

I was never Puerto Rican enough for Puerto Ricans and never Americanized enough for whites. Any friends I made were usually mixed and as unsure of their place as I was. I was never cool. The closest thing I had to a label might have been "geek", but even that barely fit me because that would assume I was into my school work and scared to stand up for myself. Only a few people had tried to bully me and I stood my ground with all of them.

Being a circle trying to fit a square peg is lonely as fuck.

By the time I was in high school, the only group I fit into was made of individuals who didn't quite fit in anywhere else.

There was that, at least. 

"On the day before-Christimas, my cousins came to meee.."

The kids are my Cousins, the parents are my Uncle and his Wife, who are as bad at being on time as I am staying in contact. When they did arrive, they chose their seats around a tree their oldest son, of 13, had put up on a previous visit. The Parents, who didnt have much social contact growing up themselves, being deaf within hearing families, where more interested in their phones and iPads than the kids and their presents. 

The children all made note of the fact they had less gifts this year than the year before-- true they did have less, though I taunted "perhaps it should be no-gifts, hm? Then you'd really have a comparison wouldn't you?" I was jesting overdramatically, but they all seemed to catch my drift.. for a little while. They tore into their presents so fast, I can't really blame their parents for not watching; it was over in about two minutes...

The cash-money got most of their attention, even more so than the ticket to an art class they'd been begging to go back to, and more than the private art lesson where they where gauronteed one on one artistic demonstration and support-- something they'd each asked for... in not so specific of words.

Alas, the gem of perspective was in the aftermath. Sitting on the stoop while they played in the twilight of a full-moon Christmas eve. As I watched them, and helpped guide them into symbiotic games, rather than competitive games.. I realized how starved for possive, reasonable, and sinsere attention they where.  How they craved a contrast to the warped yelling of their mother, who has some hearing and speech abilities, and gruff grunting with forceful signing of the meaty hands of their father.

Watching them run their own relay-race between power-poles last night, was a stark contrast to the bickering banshee-like wildness they act with around their Parents. Rebelling against one another, all disgruntled by their cercumstances and lack of quality communication. Not for lack of ability, no, they can all sign and write and read, yet the social lack their Parents suffered has bled into their own family, creating barriers of pent up animosity for the things they don't know how to talk about.

At least for one night, last night, they got to run under the foggy full moon, with more smiling and fun than fighting and loathing. A night where they weren't put in compitition with one another, but prompted to play as a team. Even as the middle child and only girl went inside, the boys and I continued to play with a camera and some glow sticks. The oldest had the idea to take pictures of the full moon and the youngest boy wantd to twirl the glowsticks on strings. I prompted them together-- the oldest taking pictures of the youngest with the rings of glowing light he was creating.

The highlight of my night, was watching them exchange places with a hesitant please and thank you,  as if the courtesies where foriegn in their mouths. The youngest them trying to caputre his brother with the twirling lights and the oldest trying to whirl them in cooler combinations than his brother had. They where having fun, and I didn't have to do much but push them in the right direction and watch it unfold.

| another_proser |

Hi, my name is progressive hearing loss.

I am the condition your audiologist has prognose further confirming the diagnosis with the audiometric machine.

I am the reason why you can't hear as well as the others but still can hear just enough to convince you that you are not completely deaf.

Thus furthering your own conviction that you don't need hearing aids nor do you need to take sign language classes.

For the thought of wearing hearing aids frightens you when walking down the elementary school aisle and through your peripheral vision watching the peeping eyes staring at what's sticking out of your ears and because you have Dumbo ears it's hard not to noticed your ears getting red and redder. 

So you decide very early that you are not going to put them on out of embarrassment.

I mean, how are you going to get your first kiss when the girl that you like is caught staring at your ears the moment you come close face to face.... Ignoring your hazel eyes and only focusing on your obvious flaws. That you have hearing problems!

Also, how are you going to continue on fitting in with the cool kids? I mean, none of them have hearing aids, you're going to stand out even more so now than ever and it won't be because of your coolness, or eloquence or talents.....

But because you have your hearing aids sticking out like a sore thumb, a thorn on the sides like Paul suffered from, constantly reminding you that you suffer from deafness....... And that at any moment could be the very last time that you can hear your name being called out, listen to your favorite music being played out, and transmitting through the airwaves the phonics learned from your friends' ebonics 

Your audio senses is your weakness and the people around you sense your self consciousness about the faulty sensory 

Whenever you talk and speak and you're being looked at funny

Asking you where you from with that accent? 

This is the reason why taking those sign language classes unnerves you so much. For you believe that it ultimately shows you and the rest of the world that you believe so thoroughly in the audiologist's conclusion thus surrendering to Me, admitting defeat to your Goliath. That you will become deaf in the nearby future.

Afraid that you will become one of those kids that can't speak properly enunciating words the correct way....

"No, Jairo asi se dice la palabra"

"No, Jairo this is how you make this sound"

Stuttering, stammering, mumbling, bumbling, jumbling words together incoherently juxtaposing between you and everyone else

Losing train of thoughts and focus when speaking because you're unsure that the person you're talking to really said what you think you heard them really say.

I really do have control over your life

Much more than you're led to believe

I'm your most closely held secret tight lipped and well guarded in your heart

You don't want anyone to know what my name is......

My name is Progressive Hearing Loss 

Slowly chipping away your hair cells within your cochlea

Easily making sure that your hair cells lose the ability to transfer the vibration from the sound waves, short circuiting it. 

You may not know this but this is how I work.

The hair cells burrowed deep within the cochlea contains stereo cilia, little hairs that captures the vibration from the sound waves rocking it back and forth 

Normally if a sound is too loud then the stereo cilia can bend or break, killing your hearing, no longer able to regrow the hair cells back like the follicles on your head

But I wait through time, slowly working my way to do my job, to rob your precious sense of listening to the birds singing beautiful morning songs and the low notes of the bass groove that you so love to follow along with the pitter-patter pattern on the drums.

Shhhhhhhh................ I'm done listening to your soundless voice that constantly remind me about my condition. I'm ok. I'm no longer terrified of what will happen in the future. I'm going to enjoy life and like you have taught me in all of my experience, I adapt accordingly.

So you can be quiet and stay silent on these matters that only Yahweh knows how to deal with. 

God....... If I lose my hearing; at least I'll have your Holy Spirit's sweet melodic voice that none can compare nor match. 

I think I rather listen to you sing to me,

Father.