Would you believe that the first outstanding deaf teacher in America was a Frenchman? His name was Laurent Clerc. He became a friend of Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet and together they founded America's first school for the deaf.

    Laurent Clerc was born in a small village near Lyons, France, on December 26, 1785. When he was one year old, he fell into a fire, losing both his hearing and his sense of smell.

    At 12, Laurent entered the Royal Institution for the Deaf in Paris where he did well in his studies. After he graduated, the school asked him to stay on as an assistant teacher.

    Meanwhile, in America, Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet was studying to be a minister. He was very concerned about the lack of educational opportunities for the deaf. Therefore, in 1815, Gallaudet sailed to London, England to seek ideas on how to teach deaf people. While he was there, he met a French educator of the deaf who invited him to go to Paris to spend three months learning at the Royal Institution for the Deaf, the school where Laurent Clerc was teaching. Gallaudet accepted the offer. The two worked and studied well together. When the time came for Gallaudet to return, he asked Clerc to come with him. Clerc accepted on one condition: that he would stay in America only a short time.

    The two men set sail on June 18, 1816. The voyage across the Atlantic Ocean took 52 days; however, Clerc and Gallaudet put the time to good use. Clerc studied English, and Gallaudet studied sign language. They discussed the school for the deaf which they planned to open. On the long trip, they had many conversations about education and deafness. The year after they arrived, they founded a school for the deaf in Harford, Connecticut.

At the school, Clerc led a busy life. He taught signs to Principal Gallaudet; he taught the pupils; and he taught hearing men who came to the school to study deaf education.

    In 1819, Clerc married Eliza Crocker Boardman, one of his pupils. They had six children. He retired from teaching in 1858. Although he had intended to return to France, he never did. He died on July 18, 1869 in the United States.

    Tom is a young man. He has a very big dog and he has a very small car, too. He likes playing tennis. Today he plays tennis for two hours at the club and then he wants to go home by car. His dog comes after him, but it does not jump into the same car. It jumps into the next car. "Come here, foolish(愚蠢的) dog!" Tom shouts at it, but the dog still stays in the next car. Tom puts his key into the lock（锁）of the car, but the key does not turn（转动）. Then he looks at the car again. It is not his car! He is in the wrong car! And the dog is in the right car!

    I've loved my mother's desk since I was just tall enough to see above the top of it as Mother sat writing letters. Standing by her chair, looking at the ink bottle, pens, and white paper, I decided that the act of writing must be the most wonderful thing in the world.

    Years later, during her final illness, Mother kept different things for my sister and brother. "But the desk," she said again, "it's for Elizabeth."

    I never saw her anger, never saw her cry. I knew she loved me. She showed it in action. But as a young girl, I wanted heart-to-heart talks between mother and daughter.

    They never happened. And a gulf opened between us. I was "too emotional". But she lived "on the surface".

    As years passed I had my own family. I loved my mother and thanked her for our happy family. I wrote to her in careful words and asked her to let me know in any way she chose that she did forgive me.

    I posted the letter and waited for her answer. None came.

    My hope turned to disappointment, then little interest and, finally, peace-it seemed that nothing happened. I couldn't be sure that the letter had even got to Mother. I only knew that I had written it, and I could stop trying to make her into someone she was not.

    Now the present of her desk told, as she'd never been able to, that she was pleased that writing was my chosen work. I cleaned the desk carefully and found some papers inside-a photo of my father and a one-page letter, folded(折叠)and refolded many times.

    Give me an answer, my letter asks, in any way you choose. Mother, you always choose the act that speaks louder than words.

Ashley was outspoken, fashionable, and the "Queen Bee" in my school.

I looked up to her and idolized her. I listened to the music 1 listened to, wore the clothes she wore. I even took art class 2 I had really wanted to take theater. I finally fitted in her group.

One day, I walked out of my last class a few minutes earlier to 3 for our group at the dining hall. Concentrating on my homework, I didn't notice they had sat down 4 me. Before I could turn back to say a word, I realized what they were talking about.

I listened 5 . "She's such a loser," one girl said.

Another girl added, "Ashley, she always follows you, trying to 6 you."

"I wish she would leave us alone. We were in the same summer school and now she thinks we're best friends." The once familiar voice sounded so cold and 7 .

I was mortified. My hands were shaking. I couldn't help crying sadly. I felt heart-broken for the very first time. How did this happen? I thought we were 8 .

I ran home. My mother just held me while I sobbed for hours. The 9 she gave was so simple, and I had heard it a million times. "Just be yourself and people will like you for 10 you are." This time it became so 11 . Then and there I decided to find myself back. That was exactly what I did.

Over the next month, I went through a lot of 12 . I bought new clothes that I wanted to wear. I no longer went to 13 class with them, and took theater. I began making new friends. I developed my own opinions and never again followed the crowd.

I had a (an) 14 school year. When I look back, I think it was the year when I discovered the person I was going to be. Despite the pain I felt that day, it was a 15 they had given me. I will never forget about it!