I’m not sure when my father went mute. I recall him telling me about his family when I was younger, and how they would lose their voices as they got older. His sister had gone mute years before, followed by his brothers, and he expected to lose his one day.
That day has long passed, and we’ve had enough time as a family to adjust. We did not, however, adjust in the way that one might expect a family with a mute member to. Neither I, my sisters, my brother, nor my mother learned any formal nonverbal communication methods with my father. My father, on the other hand, was fluent in sign language and would frequently sign us grace before dinner.
To others outside of our family, we were quite quiet, but they knew our bond was strong, perhaps because we couldn’t directly communicate with our father. We were all close, but my father and I were closer. So much so that I decided to study sign language in school. I hadn’t told anyone, not one person. I wanted it to be a surprise when I finally read what he had been saying to us for years to everyone in the room.
Even after a few months of study, I wasn’t as good as my father, but I knew the fundamentals. I couldn’t wait any longer, I couldn’t wait until dinner to surprise him and everyone, to show them how hard I worked to communicate with my father.
My mother had set the table, and we were having meat loaf tonight. I was never a fan of meat loaf, but I’m sure it would taste even better today. Being the first at the table, I watched as everyone looked at me with suspicion, probably two of them wondering why I was at the table first today. It didn’t bother me.
The last to come to the table was my father, he sat down, and looked over the table with a smile before lowering his head. Everyone else but me followed suit. This was the moment I had been waiting for.
He began his grace-
But that wasn’t the sign one would use to say anything related to grace, no the sign he was using was communicating warning. I shook my head, attempting to clear my mind of any worries. I’ve only been studying sign for a few months, so perhaps I misinterpreted the sign. Or perhaps he was using a figure of speech?
I took glances at everyone at the table, my mother head was still lowered, my sisters and my brother’s head were still lowered. Yet, upon looking at my father, his eyes were glued to me. It was a face I had never seen him make before. His stare held a thousand words, but desperate stuck into my head.
I instinctually whispered to him, “father, are you-“
He completely cut me off, with his gesture hitting the table causing everyone else at the table to look up in worry. They did not see the expression that I did, instead they saw the warm, loving, smile he had always given us.
The moment every bowed their head again, he began signing again, yet this time I couldn’t believe what I was reading. I didn’t want to believe what he was telling me, there was no way it could be possible.
“Your mother, your siblings, They’re not who they seem, I’m threatened with death if I talk, please go to the police!”
It was all hard to believe. But I’m glad I found out what I could because he was just as excited as I had hoped. The others would also appreciate knowing.