eBooks - Biographies - General - Myron Uhlberg - Hands of My Father


Hands of My Father eBooks

by Myron Uhlberg


Hands of My Father - Adobe eBook

Hands of My Father eBook

Adobe

Platforms
Windows Vista / XP / 2000, Mac OS X, Sony Reader

Features
Advanced navigation, search, bookmarks, and multiple viewing options.

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Price: $23.00


Hands of My Father - Microsoft Reader eBook

Hands of My Father eBook

Microsoft Reader

Platforms
Windows PC, Windows Mobile 5.0-6.0, Pocket PC 2003

Features
ClearType, advanced navigation, search, personal library, bookmarks, notes, and drawing.

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Price: $23.00


Hands of My Father - Palm eBook

Hands of My Father eBook

Palm

Platforms
Palm, Windows Mobile, Pocket PC, Windows PC, Mac, iPhone/iPod Touch

Features
Advanced navigation, search, bookmarks, and powerful viewing features.

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Price: $23.00


Hands of My Father Summary

Chapter One


The Sound of Silence My first language was sign.

I was born shortly after midnight, July 1, 1933, my parents’ first child. Thus I had one tiny reluctant foot in the first half of that historically fateful year, and the other firmly planted in the second half. In a way my birth date, squarely astride the calendar year, was a metaphor for my subsequent life, one foot always being dragged back to the deaf world, the silent world of my father and of my mother, from whose womb I had just emerged, and the other  trying to stride forward into the greater world of the hearing, to escape into the world destined to be my own.

Many years later I realized what a great expression of optimism it was for my father and mother, two deaf people, to decide to have a child at the absolute bottom of the Great Depression.

We lived in Brooklyn, near Coney Island, where on certain summer days, when the wind was blowing just right and our kitchen window was open and the shade drawn up on its roller, I could smell the briny odor of the ocean, layered with just the barest hint of mustard and grilled hot dogs (although that could have been my imagination).

Our apartment was four rooms on the third floor of a new red-brick building encrusted with bright orange fire escapes, which my father and mother had found by walking the neighborhood, and then negotiated for with the impatient hearing landlord all by themselves despite their respective parents’ objections that they “could not manage alone” as they were “deaf and handicapped” and “helpless” and would surely “be cheated.” They had just returned from their honeymoon,...




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