About one-third [of our undergraduates] are women…

– 1994-1995 Undergraduate Bulletin, Rochester Institute of Technology (pg. 5)

I didn’t go to RIT with the intention of finding a wife. In fact, I fully expected to be without a girlfriend for the full 4 years that I was there. I certainly wasn’t looking to hook up with anyone. Still, one-third of 8,000 students means more than 2,500  female undergraduates. I might not have been seriously shopping, but I definitely enjoyed window browsing.

My first year at school, 1994 – 1995, most of my classes were presented in large lecture halls, servicing many dozens of students per session. For these classes, my standard modus operandi was to sit in the very back of the hall. From this vantage point, I could survey the whole room and watch my fellow classmates when the presentation got a bit dry.

For several of my classes in that first year, my favorite subject to watch was a girl who always sat at the front of the room, close to the ASL interpreter. She had a fair complexion, striking blue eyes, and long, straight, honey-blond hair, held in a single, large barrette at the back of her head. I frequently dreamed of ways to introduce myself to her, though I had no expectation of ever following through.

At times, I was almost motivated to try, but one insurmountable roadblock always  doused my hopes. My dream girl was deaf, and I knew no sign language. I remember very vividly one day, when I was walking to one of my classes, I saw Deaf Girl strolling along the path towards me, chatting in sign language with a couple of her friends. I tried to make eye contact with her, and gave a sort of half-wave, but she didn’t even notice and walked past without even glancing at me. And so, I contented myself with watching and dreaming.

In the fall of 1995, while working part-time in one of the school’s computer labs, I met a man named Ron Dufort. While chatting with Ron, he informed me that he was the president of a club called the RIT Student Music Association (RITSMA). I had always been heavily involved with the music program in my high school, and when Ron found out that I, like him, was a trombone player, he encouraged me to go to one of the RITSMA meetings.

I liked Ron, and decided to give his club a try, so a couple of nights later, I found my way to the RIT music room, poked my head in the door, and … there she was. Deaf Girl was sitting in the front row of the music room, watching the ASL interpreter. This time, we wouldn’t be in a lecture hall with dozens of other students. There were only about a dozen students total at the meeting, and they all knew each other.

I was the new guy, and everyone introduced themselves to me, including Deaf Girl, who: 1) had a name, Marlene, and 2) was able to speak intelligibly and mostly understand me when I spoke to her. Fascinating. Exhilarating. Confusing. We were never supposed to meet, and yet we did.

A few weeks later was Halloween. My new group of friends were having a party, and I was invited. I didn’t have a costume, so I wore a bright-red, long, shaggy wig that covered most of my face, and I hung a flashing pumpkin light around my neck. I don’t remember much of the party. There was music, of course, and there was bobbing for apples, and there was Marlene. That party was the beginning of something wonderful.

We spent a lot of time together after that. I became friends with her deaf friends. We all ate meals together. A group of us went to church together. I started to learn sign language. Each day, after we retired to our separate dorms, Marlene and I would find one another on the computer and “chat” on-line, late into the night.

In January of 1996, the movie Mr. Holland’s Opus was released in the movie theaters. What a great opportunity, I thought. It’s a movie about music and deaf people! I decided to test the waters. One night, while chatting on the computer, I asked Marlene, “Do you ever go to the movie theater?” I honestly didn’t even know if that was a possibility for deaf people. Marlene instantly came back with “I’d love to go see a movie with you!”

I don’t remember why, but we didn’t end up going to see Mr. Holland’s Opus. We didn’t see it until months later, when it was released on video. Instead, we went bowling. One year later, we were engaged, and we were married in June of 1998.

Serendipity? No. I say it’s a miracle. I am always amazed and humbled whenever I think of the wonderful gift that He has given to me.

 – danBhentschel