Demons Be Gone!

I’m not one to mince words. I’ve been known to be more than a little paranoid. Sometimes even closing in on a disorder of being too paranoid. But one day at the library, I just knew I was being followed.

It started out with me sitting by their fireplace reading a book. I had my hair pulled up in a ponytail, so my lack on an ear on the right side of my head was pretty much visible. I wouldn’t say “Lack of an ear.” There’s something there on my head, but it’s a deformity and usually makes people a little uncomfortable. If it were up to me, I’d charge people to touch it and see how much money I could make. “Hey, come touch my deformed head! Only $2.00!” I have yet to try that tactic. Hmmmm…….

So, I’m at the library, reading, enjoying the fire, and Kenny (my hubby) approaches, signs a few things to me, I sign back and he leaves. That’s when I noticed some young boy (maybe 16 or 17 years old) watching me like a hawk. I’m used to staring, but this just have me the heebie jeebies. So, I got up and walked towards the books and where Kenny was.

This boy, too, got up and started slowly following me through the rows and rows of books. I finally found Kenny and said, “Kenny, someone is following me!” For once, he actually considered that it might be true and told me to just stay there with him. And that’s when the boy approached the two of us.

I don’t know his exact words, but the way Kenny interpreted, it seemed that this boy goes to a charismatic church and believed that he could cure my deafness through Christ’s power by a putting on of hands (or whatever you call it). I looked at Kenny; Kenny shrugged. I figured what the heck and said OK. So, the boy cups his hands over my ears, prays and says something and then yelled, “Demons be gone!” (snicker) He then asked if it worked. Alas, no, No difference. “Well, it usually takes a while. Just keep the faith,” and he disappeared off into the other realms of the library.

That was years ago and I’m still stone deaf. Seriously, I don’t believe that it would have worked. It’s just not what I believe in. But the purpose of this story would be to say to my husband that sometimes I’m NOT just being paranoid. Deaf people have weird encounters with the hearing world. This was just one of many.

Deaf Friendly "Family Feud??" Could it Be?

Yesterday evening I was sitting down to catch an hour of TV before I started dinner. My son, Jake, was sitting alone in the living room. He seemed really relaxed, and then every so often he would yell and sign, “Matches!” “A lighter!” I walked further into the room and saw what was happening. He was watching an episode of “Family Feud” and really getting into it. The question had been for them to name ways to start a fire.

The next round up, I joined him at the front as Steve Harvey asked the next question: “We asked 100 men what you would be most likely doing on your day off?” We pushed on our imaginary buzzers, but there was a problem: The captions were slow. So, by the time I yelled out, “Play golf,” Jake had already gotten the number one answer, which was “Work outside in the yard.” A few minutes later it happened again…and again…and again. This show was definitely not deaf-friendly.

During the Fast Money round, I couldn’t keep up. It was fun to try, but not realistic to think about going on the actual show.

Jake turned to me after the show. “Mom,” he said, looking disappointed, “They should have a “Deaf Family Feud” with interpreters and questions written on a screen. (Isn’t he the greatest?)

I agreed with him, of course. All game shows should show equality, don’t you think? Even the older ones should come back on and be deaf-friendly. That’s what Jake and I think, at least.

But if they ever do fix “Family Feud” to be deaf-friendly, they’d have to have a Deaf host. Not necessarily because of signing (though that’s a big part of it), but because Steve Harvey annoys every inch of my being. “We asked 100 men and women what they like about Steve Harvey as a host of “Family Feud.” The answer by a landslide was????? NOTHING!!!!

Judgement is Common...Admit it!

You shouldn't judge people. It's a fact. Judging always ends in no good. But you do, don't you? Come on--admit it! There's gotta be at least one time, one type of person, or one situation where you have judged.

I've talked about "stigma" in earlier posts, but this is different than judging. With stigma, you dislike or avoid people for what they are or whatever condition they are "afflicted" with (mental illness, physical illness, whatever). With "judging" it's based on a behavior or belief of another person.

OK. With that being said......I'm guilty!!!! I admit to guiltiness (that isn't a real word, I don't think). What or whom do I judge, you ask? I have the tendency to judge my kids' school friends (or any friends, for that matter) who don't at least try to communicate with me.

I know deafness can cause nervousness, scary feelings, intimidation, etc., but I'm nice. I'm not scary. I try to chat with them, but they usually end up running for the hills when I do. Many times, the friends will ask someone from my family how to sign this or that. That's effort. I appreciate it. But it's unusual. Most are horrified. It's like that for most hearing people, but I've gotten used to it with strangers. Friends are different. 

Isn't that terrible of me? And when people judge me, I feel more and more isolated. However,  that comes with the broken ears. But, I mean they teach gorillas sign language. That's a start, I guess. Next, I think they should teach them the dance to "Thriller." But I digress.....

I don't know what that word means, but it seemed like a good ending to this blog. 

Have you experienced judgement? Were you the judgie or the judger? Tell me about it; let me know I'm not alone in this. CONFESS!

GUEST COLUMNIST: My Daughter Mollie

SOMETHING DOESN'T QUITE ADD UP.

So, I've been enjoying a nice vacation down in St. Louis, Missouri. We get to come down here about once a year from our humble abode in west Michigan.Its a nice time to see all the grand parents and other crazy family members that we never see otherwise. So, this morning the family and me went to a nice diner to have breakfast with my dad's parents before setting out for north again. (I'm typing this journal on my dad's phone because I was bored... and eager to share this story with you all.)

Anyways! We were seated and served juice and coffee and everything was great, the woman serving us was very amazing. I took to liking her instantly, she was very energetic and friendly and just one of those people who could make you feel like it would be a great day. 

Well, my mom, dad, and me were signing back and forth; discussing the menu and the long car trip awaiting us later in the morning. We could already see heads turning at the sight of our strange language spoken with wordless gestures and our waitress was to be included in the crowd.

She came over, serving up our drinks and giving us our menus for the meal, and after many times of saying ''You're welcome.'' To us several times, she finally asked a question we were used to hearing; '' What is the sign for...'' in this case it was for ''you're welcome''. Smiling at this polite gesture we kindly showed her and nodded with a smile when she repeated it back to us with ease.

''I used to know sign language,'' she spoke, waiting patently for my father to interpret. ''I forgot because I haven't practiced in so long.''

We all nodded in understanding.

She went on, obviously feeling that this needed more explanation. 

What she said next made us all very confused.

''I knew sign language because my niece was blind.''

I stopped breathing for a second, my brain so confused and shocked that I couldn't do anything. I could see my father pause in his signing, also confused, although he recovered much faster.

The most we could do was nod in some kind of understanding and struggle to hold our chuckles in until she was out of earshot.

A blind niece in need of a visual language? Almost as bad as going to the library and being handed a Braille book after being announced deaf (yes, that has happened.)

So while we try to work through this brainwracker, please try to make sure you don't have a blind niece trying to learn sign language, it'll be very difficult and quite useless.

I Tried And I Can’t—Now Just Go Away!….Please!

I’m writing this blog as a sort of lesson to myself. See, I have a hearing husband and he is totally wonderful. He’s always trying to please me. So, in return, he ends up interpreting for me a LOT. Just in the last 5 years I’ve become pretty isolated, so he has to do all the errands and conversations and phone calls. I know it’s not OK. I know I’m taking advantage of him. But it’s not like I don’t pay in back in other ways (wink wink).

In order to free him from interpreting in times when no interpreter is expected, I thought that I would try to learn to lip read. Have you ever tried to learn to lipread? I’ve been told it can be done, but not likely for someone with absolutely no residual hearing and not a lot of practice.

Before I decided to sign up for the local community class that teaches lipreading mainly to the elderly, I decided to see if I could do it on my own. I’ve since found I can’t.

That doesn’t stop people from trying to talk to me though. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but if a person is Deaf and can’t lipread, screaming in their ear or showing us your cavities when you over-enunciate at us isn’t going to help much. Plus, it’s terribly, terribly annoying.

Now, if you’ve read my other blog posts, you might remember that I have very little capability to remember things. This can be a great thing and a not so great thing.

Standing in the hallway of a hospital, waiting to be told what to do, an elderly woman approaches me. “You deaf?????” She yelled loud enough that the veins in her face almost popped. I nodded yes and hoped she’d just go away. “I know how to do my abcs!” Oy vey, that’s the one sentence most deaf people do not want to work with. I mean, I appreciate people learning to fingerspell (or just recite the alphabet as in this case), but, God be with me, I can only have it happen so many times in a short duration before internal combustion blows me out of the way.

When this woman was done, she turned to go. I, stood silently, hoping she’d be gone soon. Oh, but that didn’t happen. No. No. I was never that lucky. So, the woman turns around and starts singing and grotesquely signing the song, “Jesus Loves Me,” Into the side of my face. Oh, gosh! Someone rescue me!!! It was over, but none too soon. Thankfully, a nurse came by and escorted this old woman away from me. And that’s all I wanted. Just for her to go away. Why can’t they all just go away??

So, lipreading is out for me. I’m OK with that. I’ve got many Deaf, HOH, and interpreter friends to chat with. I’ll keep that. That’ll satisfy me plenty.

TMI, Here….T. M. I

Ever had the feeling that all eyes were on you? Just when you actually want discreetness, people’s glances seem to gravitate to you and you just want to crawl into a hole and disappear. This happens fairly often for those deaf and hard of hearing people who use sign language. I mean, they can’t go out in public and chat with their friends without getting a few fascinated eyes on them. It’s inevitable.

Having this happen when you’re having dinner or walking around the mall isn’t really that much of a nuisance. After all, one tends to get used to it. But what happened to me last week is not really the kind of thing you get used to. Now, how do I start describing what happened?…Let’s see…OK. It involved a doctor’s office, feminine itching, a doctor, an intern, a nurse, an interpreter, a husband, a speculum, oh, and lube.

I’d been having some trouble…down there…for a few days and wanted to make sure it wasn’t anything serious. The doctor’s office I go to has their own set of interpreters and I always seem to get the one ‘terp I dislike. I don’t know why I dislike her so much, but I do. And, as I’m sure you can agree, you don’t want people you dislike looking at your crotch.

When I arrived that morning, the intake nurse took my information and had me undress. The doctor then came in and we chatted about ponies and mistletoe, Stonehenge and, oh yeah, vaginal irritation. It wasn’t such an odd conversation, surprisingly, and I think that’s the one thing that baffled me.

Dr: How’s it going today?

Me: Well, to tell you the truth, I’m pretty darn uncomfortable.

Dr: Any discharge?

Me: Not that I know of.

Dr: I’m going to have to take a look.

Me: You mean I have to show it to you?

Dr: ‘Fraid so. But office policy states that I need to have a female nurse in here with me. OK?

Me: (long pause) Tell you what. I’ll show you my vagina if you promise to buy me dinner later.

Dr: Hey, that’s my line.

Awkward.

Ten minutes later, the doctor, the nurse, and another relatively tall man walked in.

Dr: I have an intern working with me today. Is it OK if he observes?

Me: Why not? The more the merrier.

Now, this was a very small room. Everyone was crammed in and, because of this, the interpreter had to stand to the side of the table instead of next to the doctor. This was actually helpful in the way that I didn’t need her looking at my privates. However, the way everyone was positioned, I was looking at the ‘terp upside down.

This made everything a little difficult. I couldn’t understand much of what she was signing to me, but it was too uncomfortable to ask for many repeats. So, she would sign, I would nod and mumble, “OK,”(BAD ME!!) and the doctor would proceed.

Dr: I need to use the speculum so I can see better.

What I Caught: I NEED BETTER

Me: OK (Nodding and smiling—even though I hadn’t a clue)

Dr: Jamming a freezing piece of metal into an orifice that just wasn’t ready for that.

Me: Ahhhhhhhh!

Everyone In The Room: (Gasping) Are you OK?!?!?

Me: Oh, I’m dandy. Maybe when you’re finished, I could introduce you all to my parents and we could reminisce about this moment.

Sometimes no one gets my humor.

Luckily, the exam didn't go on too long and the problem I'd been having wasn't anything serious. They were all up and out pretty quickly. Sadly, the only person who wanted to shake my hand as they left was the one that had been digging for treasure a moment ago. 

But there you have it. Too much information? Maybe, but a learning moment? No doubt. Here's the gist of it...

Don’t say, “OK,” when you’re absolutely clueless and when laying down with your feet in stirrups and an audience looking at a part of you that wasn’t meant to be on display. And, above all, if you must go to the doctor and he must look at your Vertical Smile, don’t forget to bring some champagne and flowers to set the mood.

“GO AWAY – I ALREADY KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!” ISN’T IGNORANCE BLISS?

She walked into my class. I knew her, because I’ve worked with her before. Over and over again, in fact. Even though she’s got a great amount of enthusiasm, her hands never seemed to work well with her mind. She worked hard and I admired her for that—but hard work just wasn’t seeming to be the answer for this particular student.

Still, she wanted to forge on, and, after a short hiatus, decided to take up one of my classes to get back in the signing swing of things. I was happy to see her—if not a little worried and hesitant.

One of the things I’d noticed before when working with her is that her hands would never make the correct handshape. This was probably caused by her nervousness and definitely caused a problem when she went to sign such things as SOON (which can be signed by tapping a horizontal “F” on the chin a few times) and used a vertical “B” instead (the sign for BITCH)—and other similarly confusing variations.

But there she was—the last person to enter the classroom—looking just as nervous as she had before. Oh, she tried to hide this though. As we began to introduce ourselves, everyone did a good job and allowed Kenny (my hearing husband and interpreter) relay what they were saying. Not her. When it was her turn, she smiled deviously and signed,

“Hi. I’m P-R-I-A-N-C-M…” (KRISTEN). She went on to do her last name, but it wasn’t even recognizable. That was OK for me since I already knew her name. Telling the class a little about herself, however, was quite confusing. I couldn’t understand a word she signed and kept wondering if it would be rude for me to look over at Kenny to get his interpretation when she was “signing” it herself. But when that nightmare was finished, I found myself right smack dab in the middle of another one.

“Who knows their ABC’s?” I asked the class. Three out of 18 raised their hand. “Great! Let’s have the three of you come to the front of the class and show us all how it’s done.” I wanted to encourage those who said they knew them, and show those who did not yet know that it was a conquerable feat. But as the three began to do it, Kristen wasn’t exactly setting a good example. She looked like her hand had fallen asleep and she was trying to wake it up. If she had been one to actually set the bar for the rest of the class, our game of Limbo wouldn’t have gone very far. It was scary, folks. It was clear she had a disorder—not necessarily a physical one, but a disorder in her mind that told her that she actually already knew this stuff.

But how do you approach an eager former and present student and tell them,

“Hey, I know you think you know this stuff, but…uh…you’re not even close. Seriously, if you’d been one of my interpreters here in Michigan, I would have packed my bags and moved to Spain”?

I would never want someone to give it up, but the sad fact was that she thought it important that it appear to her other classmates that she knew more than anyone else. That’s not true though. I know for a fact that her other classmates were so engrossed in learning it for themselves that they wouldn’t have cared either way.

As classes went on, I thought this would stop, since it was clear that we were getting into material way over her head. Yet it didn’t change. She didn’t want to practice in front of the others. She didn’t want to write things down as reminders. Each class period got worse and worse.

It’s a sad example of someone’s pride getting in the way of the possibility of doing something great. Really mastering something. Showing yourself that, yes, you can be successful! But that’s not what happened with Kristen. And it’s truly saddening. If she had only been open to being a “beginner”. Nope. She had to to want to look like she’d hit “advanced” from the start. Trust me, “advanced” will never be the reality for someone who doesn’t open their mind and relax a little. Unless you’re describing their level of ignorance.

IT IS WHAT IT IS...AND I LIKE THAT

The other night, I was laying bed, watching the auditions for the new show, “The X Factor,” when something hit me. It was my teenaged daughter, Mollie, trying to get my attention with a sock. Apparently, I was so engrossed in the show that I didn’t notice her standing in the corner, jumping up and down and waving her arms. She’d been doing this for the past five minutes, but, hey, I was watching an interesting segment!

See, there was a young man on the show. He was the only “normal-sized” member of an all-dwarf family (those were the terms the family used). It really melted my heart, because what I observed was the ease the family had with each other. This guy (who, if I remember right, was still a teenager) thought nothing of getting down on his knees for a big mama hug or looking down to have a totally natural conversation with his father. Am I starting to sound ignorant yet? I am ignorant of that culture and life. But really! It was the naturalness that struck me (aside from the dirty, balled-up sock I had to peel out of my hair). He never knew any different, so there was no judgment of the things he had to do with the members of his family.

That made me think about my own kids. Youngsters, ages 11, 12 and 14, who signed before they ever spoke and think nothing of living in both the Deaf and Hearing cultures. Standing in the room, jumping up and down, pelting their mother with slimy, old pieces of clothing, is never given a second thought. It just is what it is. It’s a fact of life around here. Sign Language is no more embarrassing for them than back-flips are to clowns. OK. That made no sense. I’m not in the mood to Google other comparisons at the moment, so just go with it.

Seriously though. I love the fact that the kids aren’t embarrassed about the differences in our family. Even my teenager likes to hang out with my Deaf friends, “because they’re funny and have funny faces.” Hmmm. OK, maybe that one isn’t the greatest example. She just likes the animation of ASL, but those are the words this genius chose to use, so I typed them.

Stomping on floors, “speaking” through windows, using facial grammar, heck, even jumping up and down in the corner of the room for five minutes, are natural expressions of needing to communicate. I like that. I like that I’m not seen by them as weird or embarrassing. Well, yes, I am, but it has nothing to do with my deafness and that’s my point. All moms are weird and embarrassing to their kids at some point. But I’m not more so. And that makes me happy. Mom is Deaf. We need to do this and that to have a full and rich relationship with her. It just is what it is. Now, someone come over here and do my laundry, so I don’t have to deal with dirty socks in my hair anymore.

UH-HUH. OH-I-SEE. SURE.

There is a certain give and take in the Deaf community regarding how the deaf work with the interpreters. One of the ways that a Deaf signer can acknowledge that he or she understands what was just said is the old-fashioned head nod.  This doesn’t just take place with interpreters, but whenever conversing in sign. It’s kind of like the equivalent of  the “Uh-huh,” “Sure,” and “Oh,” used in verbal conversations.

When I’m out chatting with a fellow deafie, that comes natural to me. But it’s never really come natural to me with interpreters. Well, I guess it depends on what’s being talked about.

Just as some hearing people have a hard time keeping their eyes open in a long church service, I often have a difficult time nodding incessantly during the sermon. Yes, I understand. Yes, I understand. Yes, I understand. AAAAHHHH!!!!! It drives me crazy!

Yesterday, I was at an appointment for my daughter. It was her, my hubby, and me, and then there was an interpreter. I’ve worked several times with this particular interpreter, so she kind of knows that I tend to just sit there sometimes (usually when my brain is fried from too much external stimuli). However, the professional we were with had never used an interpreter before. At least I’m assuming.

Not only did she stop quite often to explain to the interpreter things she didn’t need to know, but, after virtually every one of her sentences she would stop and look at the interpreter. Then, when the ‘terp was done signing, the pro would turn and stare at me. She was looking for…you guessed it…a head nod.

So basically, yesterday I was forced to nod my head more than I usually do. I’m very sore. I think I need a chiropractor. I don’t know which was more painful, nodding my head every 45 seconds or pretending I was listening when I really wanted to take a nap. (Some of us deaf folk are pretty darn good at sleeping with our eyes open.)

CAN ANYONE HELP THIS DEAF "MAGOO"???

Whenever I get into a grouchy mood, I always make sure I let my husband know by telling him, “I’m a Magoo.” In case you don’t know him, Mr. Magoo was a very happy-go-lucky, almost blind cartoon character from when I was growing up—and before. Although, in general, he was a pleasant guy, I always think of Magoo from when he played the part of “Scrooge.” I pretty sure he got grumpy (not 100% sure though, but it’s enough for me…and Kenny knows what I’m talking about anyway). Therefore, when I say, “I’m a Magoo,” he knows what I mean: I’m in my hate-everything mood.

In fact, I’ve been a Magoo for quite some time this summer. Summer is usually a total Magoo season for me. I’m stuck at home with three kids who are always “bored,” with no money to go anywhere but the library or Speedway for a slushie, and with no friends to hang with. To add to that this year, I’ve been in charge of planning my parent-in-laws’ 50^th wedding anniversary. And, after months of planning and sending out invites and buying decorations, the time has arrived for the party. It is to be held on the 16^th of July (one week and one day from today).

There is a pretty big difference between my family growing up and my husband’s family growing up. My family is a bit more formal, while his parents are pretty low-keyed and easy going (when it comes to hanging out).  So, for MY parents’ 25^th anniversary, we had a pretty fancy schmancy party. That was about 15 years ago. And this year, for KENNY’S parents’ 50^th anniversary, we rented a pavilion at a nearby park, invited family from all over the country, and will be having a BBQ. To make matters even more casual, when my mother-in-law found out about the party, she immediately decided she would be the one to prepare the lunch.

And so the plan is for us to decorate, have lunch, do a toast, eat some cake and enjoy ourselves. At least, that’s my hope….for others. For me? I’m a Magoo. Sure, I’m excited about the decorating and I really hope they have a wonderful time. But that last part – “enjoy ourselves”?? That would include “me” and that’s one I don’t know if I’ll be able to do.

There I’ll be. One solitary deaf member of the family standing around in silence while 100 other hearing people surround me. I’d say, of the 100 people that are going to be there, only four of them have been around me since I became stone deaf. No one can sign. I can’t lipread. I am not a people person. All of these things make me cringe a bit when thinking of what’s to come.

So, I did what I normally do when I’m feeling something I’m thinking is wrong: I went to the library and got myself a book on happiness. Didn’t like it. Nothing they said made me happy. Phooey on them.

Then I got a book on optimism, but I never read it because it’s probably not any good anyway.

Next was a book on how to tolerate being around anyone annoying. I couldn’t read it. The picture on the cover annoyed me and the inside picture of the author made me very unhappy and pessimistic.

Finally, I got a book on appreciation. It wasn’t bad, though it probably wasn’t very hard to write. I mean, it’s not like the author had to work very hard to say, “You got it better than you think you did, so stop whining!” Yet, it did make me feel a bit more in place. (But it wasn’t making me appreciate anything either). Kidding…….

We leave for Illinois on Monday. The party is the following Sunday. I will have paper and pen in my hands, a keyboard sitting on the side of the table I’m sitting at, and a book to read as I hide in the corner. That’s my plan. But there’s gotta be more advice out there on having a relaxing time and making communication not as difficult besides, “Ask them to write,” and such.

Perhaps you have some advice for me? How to smile and actually enjoy myself for the long party and the visiting before and after (we’re talking days). Other than, “Stick close to your husband and kids so they can interpret for you.”

So, if you have any advice, now would be a great time to give it to me. I may be a Magoo, but, if I remember correctly, he was all ears (well, all head anyway). And I’m all eyes. Hit me with it!

STEREOTYPING: Do You Stereotype the Deaf and Hard of Hearing Community?

 

ster·e·o·type /ˈsterēəˌtīp/ : Noun: A widely held but fixed and oversimplified image or idea of a particular type of person or thing.

I’ve done it. Admit it, so have you. In fact, I’d have a hard time believing anyone who says that they've never once in their lifetime applied a stereotype to another person. It’s a sad, sad fact that that’s what happens all too often in the world. And, while I’ll honestly and sheepishly admit that I’ve stereotyped certain individuals, I can also honestly say that I’m ashamed. That makes everything all right. Right? Uh...no.

I preach and preach about not doing that very thing, and, yet, there I was on Father’s Day, at a restaurant filled to the brim with different people and groups to judge. And judge, I did. Shame on me.

Tables filled up with lazy people (heavyset and people who chew with their mouths open), racists (bald white guys with tattoos on their necks), and people who could no longer care for themselves (the elderly). Isn’t that just awful of me to write "out loud?"

Think about it. You see heavy people, bald people, tattooed people, people wearing culottes and hair bonnets, or people of different ethnicities. You see them and you immediate get a thought going through your brain. A thought that says, “I know these people. I know their type. These people are people who…(fill in the blank)." For most people, I would like to hope, it’s a passing thought that you don’t pay much attention to. But for some, maybe not.

Are you reading this and thinking, “Not me. I never stereotype people?” Hmmm. Well, if it’s true, you are definitely someone I’d like to be friends with. A person of character. A little delusional, maybe, but well-meaning.

But even though I find it hard to get out of my head (at the first moment), who am I to judge the judgers when I become upset by those who stereotype me?

I’m Deaf. People don’t usually really judge me before they find that out. That's because there's no way to tell I'm Deaf till I start signing. But once that’s discovered, watch out. All of a sudden I can’t drive, speak, make love, learn, laugh, comprehend, or interact. I was sent away for school where I learned how to use ASL and lean on others in this society. If I’m lucky, I can read at a 3^rd grade reading level and learn to do manual labor. If the cards are in my favor, I will meet a hearing man who will take me under his arm and protect me from the confines of this world. Perhaps I will have children, but they will be cursed with deafness and amount to very little.

Sound like the ideas of anyone you know? I hope not, but it’s likely you think it does.

And then, maybe, by a long-shot, they’ll get to know me. A college-educated, published author with a keen sense of humor (I think I’m hilarious), who is only THE best driver on the road (don’t question this—just accept it). I speak as clearly as a hearing person (though I’m told some hearing people don’t speak so clearly), make love just fine (I would like to hope), learn quickly (E=MC2) and am able to function just fine in this “Hearing World” (I  HATE that term) we live in. I’m not a stereotype. I’m just me. And that should be enough for anyone.

So, as I sat judging at the restaurant and getting irritated at how many tables were staring at us, enjoying the hand show as we tried to enjoy our meal, I realized that I was wrong. I’m wrong to stereotype. Just as wrong as those who stereotype me.

The next time you see someone or witness part of a circumstance, ask yourself, how would you feel if the roles were reversed? Could that have been you? And if you reacted in a way perhaps too familiar, would that make you a stereotype?

The Bible talks about the splinter and the plank. If you don’t know what I mean, look it up. I have a splinter. That much I know. But it wasn’t till I was trying to leave the restaurant that I noticed that plank sticking out of my eye. It ain't easy walking through a swinging door with that thing. What? You say you don't have one? Hmmm.

So, tell me? Do you stereotype? Do you judge me or any of the million of people with hearing loss? If so, I’d love to hear from you. I’d love for you to come forth and leave a comment telling me just what I am and how I behave.  Because, I for one haven’t the faintest clue. It depends on my moods and feelings. In fact, I’m not quite myself today. Maybe I’m you.

SMALL TALK -- IS IT REALLY WORTH THE EFFORT?

It happened (again) just a couple of days ago. I’d had my fill of things to deal with and I just wanted to be left alone. Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible. I had to go to my daughter’s school and help out with the popcorn. I mean, hey, it was “Popcorn Friday,” and they needed me. I only had to be there until all the popcorn sacks were filled and ready to be delivered to the various classes. So, I arrived and I knew where to go. I checked in with the secretary, Karen – she knows me. She waved, I waved, we parted.

Then I get to the popcorn machine. I looked at the list of volunteers that day and it said, “Stacey M” and me, so I decided to wait for Stacey, because I’d never done that before and I had no idea how to even start the popcorn machine…much less actually make the popcorn.

I hadn’t been at the machine more than three minutes before the PTO chairperson approached and told me…something. I ask how to work it and she mumbled with a few things. I explained I’m deaf; she mumbled even more. Not to mention that, while she gabbed, she’s also repositioned things and got things ready (I’m assuming). Then she looked up, smiled, and patted me on the back as she walked away.

What should I have done? I knew even less after she left than I did before she showed up in the first place. I played with a few doohickeys to see if any of them would create power and allow the machine to become THE POPCORN MASTER. Yeah, yeah, it’s supposed to be “MAKER,” but I like “MASTER” better. It makes me feel tall. Don’t ask.

The fact of the matter is I’d been standing there for a half hour with no idea what to do. Then, behold, Stacey M. showed up. She was babbling and smiling and, I’m guess apologizing for being late. She flips the switch and the MASTER comes to life. Hallelujah!

But as we stood there, filling up bags, Stacey starts to make small talk. Oy vey! Small talk is not my forte. I mean, I can’t hear a thing. They only reason I knew she was talking was because he lips were flapping and she kept giggling at something only she thought funny.

That’s one thing in my life I wish I had – the ability to make small talk with hearing people. If I can even get someone to talk/write for me. It happens very seldomly though.  Actually, it never happens. If someone doesn’t know I’m deaf and starts talking and I let them know, they usually walk away (in my opinion, because they felt uncomfortable or embarrassed by our different languages).

So, if you become deaf today, and you have no residual hearing, no lipreading abilities, etc., what do you do? Announce to the world you’re deaf and not to talk with you? OK. What happens if they do that…if they smile and nod and ignore you. Is that better? Or do you feel oppressed because they don’t want to try? It’s a catch 22 and I hate it!

To engage in conversation or not to engage in conversation (or attempt to engage in conversation). That is the question. (Was that really a question? Sounds like a fragmental statement to me). Truth is, with me, it depends on the circumstance. There have been many times where I simply shook my head and pointed to my ear to let others know I’m deaf. That usually sends them running and then there’s no need to put forth that effort. But there are many times where I will be bored or I’ll see someone I vaguely know and I’ll wish we could converse. Like I said, a catch 22. 

What I do is I evaluate the situation. Where am I, with whom am I, why am I there with whomever (that’s a very strange word…whom), how long will I be there, stuff like that.

I think hearing people underestimate the power of small talk in this world. It’s a part of daily life for most people. But what about those who can only make small talk with a few people? Can I not go to the grocery store, stand in line, and make a sarcastic, yet, utterly witty comment? Most days I don’t want to anyway (I’ve never been good in face to face situations), but there are many days when I want to make fun of someone or show the person behind me the new tap dance move I’ve invented. Or perhaps even do the moonwalk down aisle 13 with the woman in the yellow shirt. But I don’t.

Small talk can be very tricky. Very irritating. And very liberating. I hate things like that.

AND.....CUE!

The Whitman’s were due for dinner and, knowing I would be the only deaf person here and that they don’t use sign language, I tried my best to brace myself for what was to come. As Dr. Phil would say, “This wasn’t my first rodeo.” I had my paper and pen, but, because my husband, Kenny, was going to be there, he was planning on interpreting. That was nice of him, wasn’t it?

As the guests arrived, Kenny and I stood at the door to welcome them. What I found myself face-to-face with was an elderly woman with blood-red lipstick that seemed to follow the wrinkles in the skin above her upper lip (making it seem she had a bright red mustache) and a man with a Frito-catcher around his face that would rival even Old St. Nick himself. Wow! If I were ever going to need a pen and paper or an interpreter, tonight would be the night!

We said our hellos, hugged, hung up their coats and got them a drink. I should have gotten me a stiff one, too. While all of that was taking place, Kenny engaged in a nice conversation with them, making sure to sign his part. But, honestly, I was not all that interested, so I busied myself in preparing the dinner table.

After I was done, all four of us sat down at the table to eat. This can be looked at as gross or upsetting on so many levels. First and foremost, there’s the fact that here sat at least two people who don’t understand why talking with their mouth full bothers me more than it seems to bother other people. What planet did they come from? Where in the Solar System does it say that it’s considered polite and OK to spit out their mashed potatoes at the same time they’re spitting out their consonants? Ew! That has always been a pet peeve of mine and it doesn’t necessarily have to do with being deaf and paying more attention to their faces and lips. Besides, what lips?

The bulk of the frustration I was dealing with was our chitchat. As the four of us sat around, Kenny would interpret what they were saying and he would be sure to sign what he was saying. The problem I ran into is the pattern it left:

They speak.

Kenny turns to me and signs what they said.

All people in the room watch me for my reaction to what was said.

All night long, they would talk and, when Kenny went to include me, everyone got a expectant face and wanted to know what I thought. I despise being the center of attention. I mean, make me some wallpaper that kind of blends into the paint and I’d be very happy. But when we have people over who don’t sign, this is what happens.

Sure, I could ask them to write to me instead of having Kenny interpret, but it seems a little odd to say, “You know, I hate it when my husband signs to me. Can you write that down?”

Perhaps it’s just me, but it seems redundant when he could have just as easily told me what was being said. It just bugs the bejeebas out of me when everyone wants to look at me for a reaction. I mean, sometimes I don’t have a reaction. I’m not going to look all excited and responsive with every single sentence. Just let me hang out. Don’t put me on cue. It’s just too much pressure. You know? I feel like it’s almost a, “Let’s see how the Deaf woman reacts,” kind of thing.

Kenny (signing and speaking): How many children do you have?

Guest (speaking only): I have three kids.

Kenny (interprets): Three children.

Everyone looks at me to see my response.

Me (signing and sometimes speaking): Wow! Three kids? That’s great!

But, really, what’s so great about it? I have three kids. I’d gladly give away one or two sometimes. But I don’t think me having three warrants a “great” response.

So, I tried another scenario:

Kenny (signing and speaking): Where do your kids go to school?

Guest (speaking only): They attend Grandville Middle School.

Kenny (interprets): Grandville Middle School.

Everyone looks at me to see my response.

Me: I nod my head with no real expression on my face. (Thinking: OK. Let’s move on.)

I mean, who cares? He’s just being polite. Why must I have a polite and positive reaction to every single thing we talk about? It’s exhausting!

I just want to be another face in the crowd. I want to socialize with people who are involved in my hearing kids’ lives, but I can’t be expected to do cartwheels and the Victory Dance after every tidbit of information.

Yes, I used to do theatre and such, and yes, I know what being on cue means. But No, I don’t like being in the spotlight and on cue all the time.

The question is (besides asking them to write something down), how do I get involved in the conversations with hearing folk (like in a group) who are standing around gabbing? Kenny interprets and that helps break the barrier down, but then everyone wants to see him sign to me and my reaction to that and that’s just annoying. That’s the word. Annoyed.

I’m a friendly person. I enjoy other people’s company, but I find socializing with hearing people who don’t sign to be just too tricky. Hey, people! Talk to me, involve me, but, please, don’t place such a huge expectation on me. I am not on cue.

CAN I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE?

Standing at the shelf in the crowded bookstore I was completely engrossed in the book I held. It wasn’t until some very elderly lady performed a full body slam on me that I was shaken from my trance. My reaction at the time? Just a bewildered expression on my face. I had said nothing to her. What could I have done in that situation? If someone had been with me, I could have signed to them to let the woman know I was deaf, but no one was with me. Should I have written her a note to ask what the heck her problem was? I’m really not sure. All I know is that, even though that happened some time ago, I still get steamed up about it. What I would say to her if I could go back in time and do it again!

The upsetting part of the whole ordeal is that, if she had simply touched my shoulder, none of this would have been a problem. I would have seen that she needed by and I would have happily stepped aside. The fact is that she must have stood there asking me to move for quite a while before she became so annoyed at my “ignoring” her that she decided to just ram me with all that she had. I simply don’t understand it. Why, in all that time, while waiting for me to respond, didn’t she simply reach out and touch me?

Unfortunately, it’s not that uncommon. Oh, the body slam might not be the norm, but hearing people have a very strong fear of being touched or touching someone else. So, rather than be impolite and place her hand on my shoulder, she decided the best bet was to nicely (and quietly, I’m sure, since it was a bookstore) ask me to step aside so she could through. When this didn’t work—over and over and over again—she continued until she completely lost it and tore into me. Makes sense. (Sarcasm.)

As a Deaf person, I’ve run into this question often: How do we (hearing people) get your attention? Most of the time, it seems self-explanatory, but I’m starting to discover that that term may not exist anymore. So here are the basics:

If you’re out there in the world and you come across someone who doesn’t respond to your spoken request, please do not assume that that person is a jerk and get angry. With over 200 million people in American with a hearing loss, there is always a good chance that they may, indeed, be one of them. If you find out later that they’re not, then go ahead and proceed as you see fit. But call me first, so I can watch.

If you’re standing next to the deaf or hard of hearing person of whom you need their attention, gently, but firmly, place your hand on their shoulder. No poking, please. I have welts all over my body from people whose index finger should be considered a lethal weapon.

If you’re not within touching distance, do not throw things at them or even toward them in an attempt to get them to look at you. If there’s someone standing nearer to them than you, ask them to get their attention and then direct them back to you.

In some instances, it may be OK to flick a light switch. Be careful with this though. You will end up getting the entire room’s attention. Not to mention, if you do it for too long, it could be considered rude. Well, actually, anything can be considered rude if you do it inconsiderably.

For example, if you’re sitting with a deaf person at a table and you tap it to get their attention, that would most likely be fine. However, if you bang on the table as hard as you can and do this for a considerable amount of time, that would be considered rude. Not to mention that you’d probably scare the hell out of the person sitting with you.

The best way to get someone’s attention, if it’s possible, is to wave your hand and see if they catch it in their peripheral vision. Deaf people are very visually adept and we notice stuff like that a lot more readily than others.

Some ways not to get our attention? Don’t throw things in our general direction, pelt us with small items, jam your fingers into our arms, stomp on a concrete floor, snap, clap, or blast the television.

One time I was in the hospital and started to walk away from a nurse. I was halfway down the hall when she realized she needed more information. She began calling after me, then snapping, and finally clapping as loudly as possible and yelling short, staccato notes of, “Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!” It wasn’t until my hearing friend came around the corner and saw what was happening that I actually discovered she needed my attention. Duh!

It always intrigues me the way this world works. Getting a deaf or hard of hearing person’s attention wouldn’t seem to be that much of a bother, but apparently anything that isn’t super easy (read: anything where you can’t just yell, “Hey, you,” and everything is solved) is considered bothersome to most hearing people.

TAKE A PICTURE -- IT LASTS LONGER

“Mom, why is everyone staring at us,” my daughter asked me the other night, as we were eating at Cici’s Pizza.

“I’m guessing they’re seeing us sign to each other and are curious,” I responded.

After all, sign language is such a beautiful language, right? (groan)

Day in and day out, I am inevitably approached by hearing people who claim, “Oh, I wish I knew how to sign. It’s so beautiful!” And it is. I love my language, don’t get me wrong. But, man, oh, man, I just get so tired of having people say it to me. I mean, how many people, when noticing two people speaking, say, Italian, to each other, approach them and try to tell them how beautiful the language is? And come to think of it, how many people in that same situation would go stand within hearing distance and eavesdrop on the two Italians just because “it’s so cool”? Comparatively speaking, I’m betting it is few.

I’m guessing that, because ASL is visual, we get more attention when using it than people who use other foreign languages that are spoken. That’s totally understandable, too. And then there’s the “unusual” factor. Many hearing people have not knowingly encountered a deaf person. So, when they actually get to see one—using their language, no less—it’s captivating. “Wow! It’s an actual, real-live deaf person!”

I suppose I can’t be too judgmental here, because, I’ve done the same thing. When I see people who are “different” than the “norm,” I’m apt to look. I’ve even found myself staring once or twice. Was I embarrassed? Absolutely. Was I wrong? Absolutely.

Although I can understand the curiosity of seeing something that you don’t see often (or possibly have never seen before), it gets so tiring to always BE that thing. I’m sure other groups feel it, too. How many Amish people, when entering a city, get tired of being the center of attention because of the way they’re dressed? How many quadriplegics get frustrated when they attempt to go out with friends and family and everyone in their vicinity wants to watch and see how they do, well, everything? And how many little people become angered because everyone wants to see what they look like and how they accommodate for their size?

It’s no different with us deafies. Just once I would love to go out with my family into a public place and not feel like we’re the Saturday matinee. I feel like I should be selling popcorn, for Pete’s sake. I know it’s beautiful, people. OK? Thank you! But please stop staring!

I think I’ve decided what I’m going to do about this, though. I try to be lucrative, you know. So I’ve decided to start stocking up on disposable cameras. Now, when I do venture out and get as much attention as the five o’clock news, I can simply approach the person(s), hand them one, and charge them ten bucks. Seems fair to me.