Thundercat53

CHAPTER ONE: THE BOY AND THE BOX
The flashbulbs never seemed to stop. The roar of the crowd never seemed to cease. They only seemed to intensify when the glittering, crystal football trophy was held and thrust up in the sky by Bob Stoops and us the teammates, the winners of the National Championships 2000 at the Orange Bowl in Miami, Florida. It glittered gloriously above the sea of screaming faces. The human waves of crimson and cream moved like an ocean, an ocean full of screaming fans bursting with emotion and happiness, which reverberated throughout the massive stadium. I stood behind Bob Stoops on the podium during this monumental occasion. A sense of unbelievable pride and achievement overwhelmed me. Never had I felt so sure of myself, so secure in my abilities. I thought to myself, what a perfect night. Nothing could beat this. I am on the top of the world.
Dozens and dozens of cameramen focused their lenses upon the coach and several of us who were directly behind him. Paparazzi-style flashing of the light bulbs continued with high speed, temporarily blinding all of us. Various reporters from sports networks were hollering questions at the coach. I stood there, smiling like a giddy teenager and not being able to contain myself. All the hard work I have put into football. All the sweat and blood I had poured into being an football player for the University of Oklahoma. And now, I have finally made it, this zenith of my college football career. Nothing could be better. Nothing. I looked up to the Floridian night sky and felt a warm breeze run across my face. I looked down upon the people gathered around us. Everything was in slow motion.
I suddenly noticed a face in the crowd. It was a young boy, about eight or nine years old. He had blue eyes and blond hair. He stood out alone in the crowd, staring at me with sad, inquisitive eyes. He looks familiar. Have I seen him somewhere before? My eyes focused upon him intently and studied him. He was dressed in hands-me-down and his hair was tousled, not well-kept. I thought to myself, he does look familiar. He really does. As my teammates roared again with happiness and the coach raised the trophy once again for the media, I struggled to keep the boy in my sight. Then, a sudden realization came over me. That boy. Those clothes. Those sad eyes. I remember him now. That boy was me.
Suddenly, the alarm went off and jerked me out of the dream. I woke up with a deep sigh, rubbed my eyes, and turned the snooze button on. I laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and thought about the dream and its meaning.
For so long, I had struggled to make it to the top. During that time, I had somehow placed all my problems, frustrations, and pain in a "box". I put everything away there because I could not deal with them subconsciously. I could not bear to allow those things to interfere with my athletic goals.

That boy was a reminder that I had to pick up that box and open it, sooner or later, and face the horrors I had experienced as a child. To deal with them. No, I didn't want to, and I don't want to deal with them. I have always thought, isn't it hard enough being deaf? Isn't it painful enough to overcome that disability? To prove your worth to everybody else? Certainly, you don't need to deal with any more issues.
The box's defense mechanism worked very well for me over the years. But there was this unyielding desire to examine my history, my childhood, and to understand why it happened to me. I want to understand. To find answers. The safety valve must be opened. It took a permanent injury to set the ball in motion, an event that would force me to face my past.
After the injury on the field that ended my football career, which no longer allowed me to play, I was left in a deep state of shock. What now? What is my life worth now? Now that I had no structured, fulfilling routine, I was left to grapple with the aftermath of the injury. I had nothing to do. Not even a coaching job offered to me could keep me in a positive state of mind. Not even the encouragement of my former teammates and coaches could pull me out of the abyss of depression. On the top of that, I had to grapple with the inevitable demons from my past. Indeed, over time, one by one, the demons floated out of the box and surrounded me. There was no escape.
Was I ready for what was to come? Little did I know how rediscovering those childhood experiences, those horrors, would impact me for years to come, after all had settled down and the Championships became nothing more than a happy memory.
I have always believed in Winston Churchill's quote: "If you are going through hell, keep going". My childhood, except for some joyous periods, was a living hell. A hell that cannot be described in words alone. A hell that can only be experienced by actually living it. A unique hell designed for me, it seemed.
I lived in California during those hellish years of my childhood. I started out in the southern Californian town of Oxnard, and when I was four years old, I moved up to Orville in northern California. I went to a variety of special schools for the deaf and mainstream schools. I rode one of those special school buses they provided for handicapped individuals back and forth to school. I also went to a school in Chico until I was in fourth grade. My early years consisted of going to multiple schools in a short period of time.
My mother raised me, and my brother and sister; she had married twice during these years. I didn't have a stable, solid father figure. On the top of that, my first stepfather was responsible for initiating the hell and its demons.
Being in an impoverished environment in rural California with an abusive first stepfather and a dismissive mother, there was very little to look forward to. I often didn't believe I'd live for a very long time, either. It didn't help that I was deaf, either. I was looked down at by everybody. A preview of my childhood is self-explanatory.
A good portion of my childhood was spent defending myself, enduring both physical and sexual abuse at the hands of my first stepfather, living on Bisquik and water, being exposed to drugs and violence, my first brush with death [witnessing a double murder], and, on one occasion, being forced into child pornography. My stepfather would also steal my mother's paycheck and disappear for days, in order to support his drug habit. Normalcy was a foreign concept to me. Imagine being a young impressionable boy trying to comprehend the world around you, when nothing was even close to normal. Imagine.
When my mother married for the third time, she relocated all of us to Kansas City. I lived in a house for the first time in my entire life. Things seemed okay for a year until my mother and her third husband decided to have some space. They sent me and my siblings back to California, to stay with our grandparents, for a while.
When it was time for us to return, my mother decided to leave me in California with my grandparents, while taking my siblings back to Kansas City. She told me if I came back home, she would put me in a foster home. I felt alone and did not feel loved. Why would she not take me too? What did I do?
The demons did not stop there. With all the experiences I had to go through, I became very difficult to get along with. I developed an anger problem, and lashed out at people. I turned my pain inwards as well, shutting down and not connecting with people. The only person I really connected with was my grandfather.
He was the reason I got interested in football. I have fond memories of sitting alongside him in the living room watching Sunday football on the television. In the fourth grade, he turned to me, one day, and told me I should play football, noting my interest in the sport.
Indeed, my grandparents signed me up for football at my school. I tried it out. It was as if I had found my true calling. I was able to release my anger on the field, continually tackling people down, even chasing them. I became a great hunter, a speeding monolith, on the field. My physical strength impressed many people. I also found out that I was really, really good.
After nine or ten months on the West Coast, however, I still could not seem to get along with very many people, and I became aloof. My grandmother interpreted that as an "attitude problem"; she reported to my mother about it and flew me back to Kansas City. Mother decided to give me a second chance and hoped that I would do better. I then decided to be on my best behavior, because I did not want to go into the foster care system. I would put football on the back burner while I focused on doing well in Kansas City.
During this period, I learned to temporarily suspend reality and sweep the devastating childhood memories under a rug. When I went to my new elementary school in fourth grade, I met a wonderful teacher, Kathy Redel. She was my first role model, taking me to baseball games, amusement parks, and also took me with her on her family outings. I
finally saw what a happy family looked like. I saw happiness and joy everywhere around her, and tried to understand what "normal" was all about.
I also met my best friend Dan, during my first year in Kansas City. More often than not, he was my only friend in school. He was the only one who could understand me. We spent countless days talking about our dreams and goals. He seemed to be the only one who I had a lot in common with, and to this day, he still remains my best friend. He was a significant force, always motivating and cheering me on.
Would that I could forget the terrible memories of my early childhood and toss them out? Please could I have a happy family, a normal one? My childhood had forced me to create the box and quickly discard problems into it. That newly created box would only increase in size over time, as I went into junior high and high school, and eventually, college.
I was still seeking a creative outlet for my anger and my frustrations. A safe place where I could unleash my fury. The box was simply not enough; I needed a catharsis for my emotions. Continuing the sport of football seemed to be an answer. Even though I became interested in football in fourth grade, I did not become serious about it again until junior high.
In 1993, when I was in seventh grade, a significant thing happened to me: I was walking down the hallway at school and something caught my attention. On a bulletin board, there was an article and a photo about a deaf football player. His name was Kenny Walker. I stopped dead in my tracks and studied the article. I could not believe that it was even possible that a deaf person could play football; let alone for a university.
My heart skipped a beat, and after reading the article, I became very intent on knowing more about football. Maybe I could try this one out. Maybe it could work out? Look at this guy. I can do it too.
I could not believe that deaf people could do something like that. For so long, I was indirectly taught that deaf people were dumb invalids who had no potential in the world. They were not meant to be destined for great things. They were to be put behind, hidden away from society. They were an embarrassment to the world. That is how many people and my first step-father made me feel. An embarrassment to the family. A dumb deaf kid.
I spent countless hours researching the topic of football, to learn about its professional rules and regulations. I also threw myself into weight training at the young age of twelve. I was so hell-bent on playing football, to be someone great, that I poured every grain of my anger and pain into weight training. I wanted to prove to everybody that I was not a "dumb deaf kid". I was truly inspired by Kenny Walker.
During strength training, I truly adopted the "no pain, no gain" motto, and continued to follow that philosophy. It was the only thing I knew. Pain is good. I will grow from it. It was the biggest motivation I knew, a powerful reinforcement.
Being the only deaf student in my junior high and high school, I endured taunts and pranks; I also suffered social rejection, isolation and put-downs. Hey, look at that deaf kid. Haha, he's pumpin' iron like he's gonna be some big-shot football player. Ha, hey kid! Look! You ain't gonna make it, no two ways 'bout it!
Years later, I would prove them wrong.
I found a support system in terms of sports. The coaches showed a great deal of interest and support in me. I participated in track, and continued playing football. Football was my escape. A place where problems did not exist. A place where I could be free.
I was part of the varsity football team as a freshman, playing the position of outside linebacker, at the high school. So great was my speed and strength, people remarked, "Who is that kid?", and I was nicknamed Thunder. Thundering down the field and attacking the opponents was what I did well. I always felt like a thunderstorm, unleashing nothing but rapturous fury, noise, speed, and lightning bolts; it always came alive when I was on the field.
During my junior year, I began to be contacted by various college football recruiters, who showed interest in me. Thirty-four different Division-I schools showed interest, including
Kansas State, University of Kansas, University of Missouri, and University of Oklahoma, to name a few. Many were impressed by my abilities, but after discovering that I was deaf, some of them did not want to bring me on; they seemed uncertain of how to deal with having a deaf football player on their team. But one university didn't have that attitude. University of Oklahoma proved to be an exception.
I met Brent Venables, an OU football recruiter, during that year and established a special relationship with him. I shared with him what I had gone through as a young boy, and shared my hopes and dreams. He was touched by how I overcame my obstacles and liked my athletic abilities. He, along with the staff and coaches from OU, invited me to visit Norman, Oklahoma. I accepted the invitation.

Arriving into the vicinity of the OU campus, my jaw dropped slightly at the sight of the massive academic buildings; off Lindsey Street, I gawked at the huge stadium and the huge Barry Switzer Center. I wanted to see more. After that, Steve and I went to visit the Barry Switzer Center. We met Bob Stoops, and all the other coaches, and the players.
I had never seen so many trophies and awards packed into a hall before. Glistening glass cases enclosed countless trophies for bowls, conferences and championships. Jerseys sporting the recruitees' names lined a section of the hall. I saw my last name on a jersey, THUNANDER. I was impressed beyond words and could not believe this was true. Our hotel room was also very nice. I was assigned to a roommate, and both of our names adorned the door, festooned with balloons. I thought it was incredible. My host, Mike
Skinner, number 75 offensive line man, was also great.
Later on, what was even more incredible was my first inside glance at the football stadium. I slowly rotated 360 degrees, looking at and breathing in every sight of the seats, bleachers, and the field. The sheer size of the massive stadium made the bleacher seats at my high school look like toothpicks.
"Wow," I breathed.
I felt so happy, and it was still Friday. We all went to a steak-and-shrimp, all-you-can eat buffet hosted by the coaches and the football department. Oh, I stuffed myself until I thought I'd explode. Steaks. Seafood. More steaks. I also amused myself by watching my friend Steve shuttle back and forth to the buffet bar, looking for more shrimp. I also chatted with many of the players and got to know them pretty well.
The players treated me with respect and admiration; it was the first time I felt like a person, a true individual. The feeling of acceptance brought a sense of security and happiness to my mind and heart. One of the coaches, Brent Venables, told me something later that evening that surprised me.
“You have the potential to be an all-American,” he said. I sat there, unsure how to respond. All I knew was this: I was beginning to really like OU and its people. The more I talked to them, the more I couldn’t imagine not being an athlete there.
Saturday was similar to Friday, except we got to talk more with the coaches. I was so impressed and in love with OU that I kept badgering the coaches. "Hey, what about a scholarship? When will we know? I'd like to know more," I eagerly asked.
"Whoa, slow down, buddy alright?" said some of the chuckling coaches. "You wont know until tomorrow."
I would have to wait until Sunday to know if I would get an offer.
Saturday night was pretty uneventful. I stayed up very late and chatted with my host. We went to Taco Bell at 3 a.m. in the morning, and talked the night away in the hotel room. I was anxious about the next day.
"So, let's look at your film," Bob Stoops said to me. It was Sunday, and we were in his office. He sat across the table from me. Steve was sitting next to me. We looked at the recruiting tape and watched the highlights of my high school football career.
Coach Stoops turned to me, then said something to me that blew me away. He said this with the most sincere tone of voice:
"We really like you. We think you are talented," he said. I sat there feeling my heart swell with happiness.
"We would like to give you a scholarship," he continued.
My chest burst, and I immediately reacted.
"I'll take it."
"Whoa. Are you sure you don't want to go home and think about it?"
"No, I'll take it . I'll commit."
Stoops looked at me and broke out a smile. "Welcome to OU, Eric," he said.
As the photographer took a picture of Stoops and me shaking hands after the commitment, I felt like I had let a huge sigh of relief out. I felt like this was my reward. Yes. Yes! I worked so hard for this. Yes! Alright!
It was really the happiest moment of my life. I was finally accepted, something I had been looking for so long. The University of Oklahoma was my new home. Only two seasons after I begun playing football for them would we go on to win the National
Championships. A career in the NFL seemed very possible. I worked and gave all my heart to football. Everything was going well. Finally, I could perhaps even throw away that "box". I don't need that box. The demons have vanished.
But all of that changed when a blow to my head, an injury that occurred on the football field, shattered my dreams of a career in professional football. In a blink of an eye, everything was taken away from me. Again.

Deafness

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KarissaMann05

wow your story is so original and so dark experience!!! oh snap! ..yes, its true for in live.. I have my experience is very little similar to that story you wrote. man, your story is so gooooddd!!!

but i wonder, it's fiction or it's a little non-fiction? just wonder.

keep updating, will ya?? I'm so excite to see what's happen next!!!

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Credit by KarissaMann05

Thundercat53

Everything in the story is true. I have 9 more chapters. The book is an Autobiography of my life. This story is the first chapter of my book "Silent Thunder", which is due out in January of 2008. This book will be nationally sold across America. After the book comes out, my agent is working out the details to be on the Oprah Show. So, everything you read is 100% True. I have 9 more chapters and the future title of this book is called Silent Thunder. If you need Further proof, you can google my name, Eric Thunander. You will find few old newspaper articles about me back when I played football for The University of Oklahoma. I was also number 53, in the years 1999-2000. In addition to being an author, I am also a motivational speaker to deaf and hearing audiences. I hope to use my stories to help inspire more people in the deaf community that anything is possible when you really put your mind to something.

KarissaMann05

wow! O_O honsetly, i have no idea it's actually 100% non-fiction. whoa
All right, I'll look in someday anddd take your time to work on your story. awesome

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Credit by KarissaMann05

restless_heart

It is an intresting story, I would read more. I have written a memoir, pretty opposite of yours. In fact I was the only hearing impaired in the entire high school. I know how that felt being the only one. Is your story going to be a novel? How many pages altogether? Mine was over 200 page. I thought mine would make a big difference for all the hearing impaired also, or just anyone who does hear. Everyone has their stories, and would make a big difference on many diff type of people out there.

Rule in writing...try not to use the word reapeatly on each page, like for example, 'seemed' three times on one page. I learned that from one agent from Florida. That is why I had to do revision. Not easy!!! I need another set of eyes. SMILE!!!