A collection of authors and stories that spans across the globe. Stories written in their own native tongue. We at the Story Tellers saloon honor the storyteller in all of us, no matter where we call home. We do not believe in language as a barrier...
Language is not a barrier until you find that one person that you wish so much to communicate with but can't. It makes you strive to find a way to break down that wall and if you do the rewards are truly amazing.
There once was a man named Mr. Houser. Mr. Houser and his wife were an older couple that would come into the bank I worked for often. I'd see them huddled, heads together, going over their deposit slips. They didn't always come in together and most often times it was just Mr. Houser who'd drop in to do the banking.
I was new and had not the pleasure of waiting on this couple before and one day Mr. Houser came to my window with a huge smile and slid me his slips. I smiled back, chatting away amicably as I did my work. When I asked a question in regards to a mistake I found. Mr. Houser remained strangely silent.
I looked at him and back at the paperwork. Was I wrong? I double-checked my figures. No, I was right and as I redid the math I explained what was wrong and again when I looked up he was just standing there smiling at me.
Confused, I said again, "Mr. Houser I think there is a mistake. You filled out the slip incorrectly the amount you should be getting back is..."
My manager approached and put her hand on my shoulder and said, "Mr. Houser is deaf. You have to look directly at him when you talk."
Look at him! Dear Lord! I just wanted to hide under my desk and not come out again until after he had gone. How could I have made such an error? Why didn't anyone tell me or warn me before I waited on him? I bit my lip and knew my cheeks were flaming because I could feel the burn.
"I'm so sorry!" I said looking directly into his eyes.
He laughed and mimed he wanted something to write on.
I slipped him a notepaper and pencil and he wrote his reply:
"You seemed so happy. I didn't want to interrupt."
What I found out that day was that Mr. Houser had a wonderful sense of humor and he loved to make me laugh.
In fact, it was one of his favorite things to do, as he would tease me unmercifully about my love life and any other inappropriate subject he could think of. He was even more delighted that this "young girl" would give it back to him as well as she could take it on the chin.
My manager would wonder what was going on, as we would be furiously passing a note back and forth to one another giggling like two schoolgirls. I would notice he started preparing for our sparing battles having a question or comment written before he got to my window and would purposely let others go before him in line just to be certain I was the one who waited on him.
His wife was just as endearing. Often taking my side against him. Poor man didn't stand a chance.
My boyfriend (who eventually became my husband) was taking ASL - American Sign Language in college. One day I got the bright idea to ask him, to ask his teacher, how to say, "Have a nice weekend."
He showed me when he came over that night and I practiced all week long. On Fridays the couple had a habit of getting out their safe deposit box. I made sure I was the one to get it out for them and after I put it away, and handed them back their keys, I stopped them before they turned away.
They looked at me quite puzzled and I took a deep breath and performed the signs as I was taught them. Never in my life did I expect the reaction I had gotten from these two wonderful people.
Their eyes filled with tears and they embraced me. They were so overcome that I took the time to learn the signs to talk to them in their language. In that moment I knew I would taking a course to learn ASL, and I did.
Mr. Houser, once he knew that I was learning, would refuse to let me write another note. If I was stuck I could write a word and he would translate it for me. Now our conversation was a flurry of hand movements and facial gestures, but we still did our share of giggling.
Even when I left the bank for another job, I still wrote a Christmas card to Mr. and Mrs. Houser every holiday. My heart was broken the year I did not get a return card.
A year or two later I had seen Mr. Houser in the bank filling out his slips. I still banked at the same branch as I lived in the neighborhood. I was so thrilled to see him and he me but it was then I learned his wife had passed away and she was the one to write the cards.
I continued to send them until they came back ...No such person at this address.
To this day I can't help but think of him and his wonderful smile.
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I love you, Mr. Houser... Wherever you are?
P.S. Mr. Houser's favorite question was when people would ask him for his phone number. * giggle - giggle*
