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I am going read a poem I wrote my junior year of college. I am first going to voice it in
English for those of you who are hearing, the hearing world version of the poem and
then I am going to sign the ASL version of this poem. Shortstop
# 2 New York Yankees
His parents told him If you can dream
You can believe Now
When I was growing up I had that same dream
Shortstop # 2
New York Yankees Although
That spot was taken So I moved on
Dream # 2 Now Dream # 1
Teacher of the Deaf Like Derek Jeter
When I swing I swing my hands in a motion that reflects
greatness Rate my sign language skills
I am not Deaf Education MVP But each one of my signs
Reminds me Of my story
My journey to the top Middle school
Seventh grade When I learned the American Sign Language
alphabet That night
I caught the letter A I caught the letter A in my hand
Like it was the last out in the World Series And the series of letters that followed
B through Z Were like my mind tripping on ecstasy
When I finished My organs froze
Like an iceberg waiting to melt What I felt?
Was high Not like a drug
But a onetime ticket to paradise Now at the time
I did not know I wanted to teach But my hands
Stood still like a Picasso painting looking back at me
Ice cold hands Shocked by this sudden sunset
That shined through my fingers Melting into movement
Back and forth Up and down
Side to side My fingers singing a symphony
I stared These signs
Formed into letters Over time into words
Stories Pictures
As I watched my hands My mind recognized
This language was like my Western Wall In the old city of Jerusalem
Like the scriptures written on stones And pieces of papers with wishes
Stuffed in the crevices of the original temple This language would lead me to my
Thrown My pillow case
Cliche Marshmallow cloud
My shortstop # 2
New York Yankees Themed Dream The lights of New York City
Glowing through my hands Lighting them up like the Empire State
Preparing them For my return home
This was who I am Who I will be
Now When I sign I do not take
A second of my time To think if this career move is right
Because when I swing My mind is poetry
Not written poetry But
Poetry in motion Cause when I sign
My mind feels like A King
A monkey swinging Freely in a bountiful jungle of green trees
And this poetry This language
Will teach And me and my poetry
Will teach my students that they can also become
Shortstop # 2
New York Yankees For
I will teach my students That a dream
Is not what you find when you retreat your eyes
To the back of your brain But a dream
Can be As real as a new born baby
I have a friend who thinks differently She thinks her deafness
Is like an immovable ice cube Making it impossible to process that ice cube
Into a liquid Well let me tell you this
The only thing you can not do is hear And your hands can hear magnificently
And do not tell me you can not read You can
Just use your hands Your intelligence
To circulate that term Around
And Around
In your brain "I Can"
Saying you can not Is translated to me
As I am not willing to try My students will be able to
Look me in the eye And say
I know who I am I know what I can do
And just because I am deaf Does not mean I am not a boy or a girl
A man or a woman with potential My potential will succeed past the Garden
of Eden And me
I will be shortstop # 2
New York Yankees Give me Socrates
And I will explain the elements of inertia
Give me Langston Hughes And I will tell you
How like Mr. Hughes I can write and be heard
Like that one black bird singing in the dead of night
And when I ask my students if they can hear They will say
No But when I ask them if they can be heard
They will reply with thunder Yes
And when people tell my students Take those broken wings and learn to fly
They will say Excuse me
For me that does not apply And they will tell them
My ears What you are calling my broken wings
Are not broken Because if you can see
Then you can see that my hands are flying I can fly
I am me Shortstop
# 2 New York Yankees
Who are you?