At first my fingers were awkward. They fumbled carelessly and sloppily like five uncooked French fries. I was in the fifth grade when I first dipped my fingers into the endless ocean of expression and allowed my hands to grow a voice.
It began simply with the American Sign Language alphabet when a short, round woman came to my class on Diversity Day to teach us a few basics. I remember watching her chubby fingers dance from word to word, and I left school that day fascinated.
I remember my palms being sweaty as I wandered anxiously into her classroom. From corner to corner, the walls were…
