I was nine years old when I had just received the best news of my life. We were moving out of the apartment complex. I hated that place. Every time I tried to jam out the most totally bodacious tunes, they had ever heard, someone would complain. They just didn’t understand rock and roll. I would try to explain, to the manager and the super, that this was just insanely righteous rock. The drummer had one arm and he could still just rock out. My mom was still called, and I was still grounded. I would wear my ‘Hysteria’ shirt, just to stick it in their faces, that I rocked and they didn’t.
When we found the new house, I was in heaven. I could not believe the fortune the Gods of rock had given me. I gelled up my mullet and rocked that neighborhood, because I knew they welcomed my kind.
I remember telling mom, “Did you see that sign? Pour some sugar on that.”
She never had the heart to tell me, that is not what they meant by Deaf Children Area.