“memories, nostalgia and flashbacks”

4/7/10….that’s what Nathan Hughes heading was on a LHH message board to me in March 2009. I have had more of his comments and e-mails since then but that message line reflects my feelings today knowing his parents have had to arrange for his funeral.
• Nathan---that little 5 yr. old who “stormed” through my kindergarten door at Germantown Elementary in September 1978. Those first few days it was anyone’s guess as to who was really in charge in that class. I finally prevailed, probably because I was the “bigger” of the two of us.
• Nathan, who would turn off both his hearing aids and close his eyes when he didn’t want to “listen” to me.
• Nathan, who because of his profound hearing loss, saw the world better and brighter than any of us could. He noticed everything. Once while “listening” (probably by reading my lips) to me read a story and while daughter Molly, in utero, began kicking, Nathan jumped up and placed both hands on my stomach and declared in his “Nathan voice,” “It’s alive in there!”
• Nathan, who when trying to learn “social” rules about church behavior, declared, “one shouldn’t throw tomatoes at the preacher."
• Nathan, whose kindergarten symbol was a cross to make it easy to identify his work, had the “end of the year cake” iced and decorated with everyone’s individual symbols. He passed out the correct pieces, symbol by symbol to everyone in the class.
• Nathan, who years years later wrote to me saying, “I remember you assigned me a class symbol..a cross. How significant and poignant that was, because later that year I would come to know Jesus, and what the Cross stood for."
• Nathan who stole my heart!
His family embraced me as well. On the home visits, I saw the big slate wall where his kindergarten concepts were reinforced daily by his parents. I also saw the speech-to-speech machine where his dad, Ralph, worked nightly trying to help Nathan voice sounds to match his. Nathan followed only the needle on the machine because he could not hear those sounds. Tedious work, done day in and day out---all for Nathan’s benefit. His mother, Carolyn, even babysat 3 week-old, Molly for me so that I could teach that last month of kindergarten. She would bring her up to me at the school each day for me to feed her. What a ministry! What a loving, caring family. Carolyn even gave me a framed scripture verse reminding me to “Choose each day” whom I would serve. She knew, before I did how, how important scripture would become in my life. She passed that on to Nathan because he shared scripture for me in his e-mails 30 years later.

Nathan, whose life moments I celebrated and often attended and whose daughter I held, has left me and many others feeling sad and empty. The grief is palpable. No more of his quips to lift our spirits. No more of those gorgeous eyes to twinkle in mischief. But, he has left us with lots of good “memories, nostalgia and flashbacks.” I choose to smile through my tears as I remember these things.