"HO! HO! HUH?" TURNING A LIMP HAND TO A FELLOW DEAFIE

Every year around this time, I begin to worry. I worry that we won’t have the money or capabilities to afford gifts for our children. I worry about that a lot. My husband tells me over and over that gifts are not what Christmas is about. He’s right. Yet still I worry. I’m sure even to the point of selfishness. And every year, God proves to me that He is in charge. We’ve never had a Christmas where we walked away in want. For that I am truly grateful.

In fact, it amazes me (understatement) how many blessings are bestowed upon our family at this time of year. This year is no different. Friends, family, and anonymous donors flabbergast us as the days roll by. Cookies, candy, gift cards, even money, are placed in our hands with only “A Friend” or “Use this wherever you are in need” scribbled on a note or card.

At this time, we aren’t able to do a lot for others, but I certainly try through cards and food and any gifts I’m able to purchase. I want to give back.

Now, you would think that, with all the good coming our way, I wouldn’t have a whole lot of complaining to do. But if you do think that, you don’t know me very well. Sad to say, but I’m a whiner, and what I’m usually whining about is inequality of communication access for poor, little, old, Deaf me.

Why can’t I go see the movie I want to see? Why do I always have to settle for what they’ll give me?

Why can’t I join the group of Christmas carolers and sing my heart out?

Why doesn’t Santa Claus at the mall offer an interpreter so I can sit on his lap and tell him my inner-most thoughts? OK. That one hasn’t actually happened, but I wouldn’t put it past me.

Case in point…I hate being left out. I hate that I have to ask for assistance. I hate that I can’t enjoy things in the same, full way that many can. I hate, I hate, I hate.

Well, Bah! Humbug!

So, anyway, I’m cleaning up the kitchen yesterday afternoon and my 11-yeear-old daughter charges in. “Santa Claus is at the door.”

“Huh? What does that mean?”

“It means that Santa Claus is at the door. He just tapped on the glass and shouted, ‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’”

Immediately I’m thinking child predator in a Santa Claus suit. OK. Not really. I walk into the living room and, sure enough, there’s Kris Kringle at the door, waving at me through the glass.

Now, we have people come to the house pretty often. Aside from a pair of Jehovah Witnesses, there’s never ever been a signer. So, I’ve simply come to expect that anyone who comes to the door—especially ones who are shouting with laughter through the glass—are obviously hearing individuals.

I smile and open the glass door. “Hi! What can I do for you, sir?” I state. No hand motions in sight.

Santa starts to speak. Afraid that he’s going to get chatty, I immediately point at my ear, shake my head and let him know I’m deaf. He looks scared. So, turning away, facing in the complete opposite direction of his eyes, I offer my son up to interpret for him. Santa doesn’t say anything. In fact, if I’m right, he looks pretty darn confused.

He gently hands me a card. I ask who it’s from and my kids say he said, “A friend.”

“Wow! Well, Merry Christmas!” I shout and he leaves us all standing at the door, wondering what in the heck just happened.

It doesn’t really matter what happened next. Suffice it to say we were overwhelmed with the goodness of the Lord with the gift that was inside that card. After a lot of talking about who we thought he might have been, we give up for the time being. An hour later, my teen girl runs into the room and signs, “He had a Deaf accent!! He had a Deaf accent!! I wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, because I couldn’t understand some of the stuff he said, but that’s why!”

So, here we had a nice and caring man, donning a Santa Claus outfit, who was, by all speculation, deaf, come to the door and I didn’t sign a single thing to him. I put that poor man in the same predicament I was whining about just earlier that same day. A Deafie had created inequality of communication access with a fellow Deafie.

I feel awful. I really do. And, no, we don’t know for sure if that man was, indeed, deaf. But the fact is, why did I presume that the person would be hearing and prefer oral communication, even when it’s the opposite of what I want? I complain that people can’t sign, and those who say they can, usually mean they can show me the ABCs over the course of 15 minutes. This man, if he was deaf, came to our door, “knowing” and expecting that he’d be able to chat. Maybe. Guess that just goes to show that it can work both ways.

I’ve learned my lesson though. I won’t assume people are hearing anymore. Besides, we all know what happens when you “assume.” You make an “ass” out of U and Me. Well, how’s that for Merry Christmas?

HE AIN'T AS GREAT AS THEY THINK HE IS

BOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

When I begin an American Sign Language class, I try to make sure that everyone not only learns sign language, but perhaps most importantly, also learns about the population who uses it. Deafness is something that almost always shocks hearing people when they delve into such things as Deaf Culture and Deafhood and what they mean.

There are several capacities to our culture that many hearing people tend to shut their eyes to. However, not all are avoiding the subject; many are simply misinformed.

Deaf history is also very important to learn about if you’re interested in learning our language, so that people can see how far we’ve come in the past decade. We still have a heck of a ways to go though. And, inarguably, one of the biggest figures in the past movements of the deaf and hard of hearing was Alexander Graham Bell.

AG (as I will call him) is known by many individuals, organizations, and doctors, as a huge supporter of deaf and hard of hearing people. I mean, hey, he had a deaf wife, a deaf mother, and he invented the telephone as a way to try to help deaf people communicate. Thanks, man. Appreciate it. Didn’t work at all for us and actually caused more oppression, but, hey, you accomplished something. Right?

AG’s known in the Hearing world as a supporter, yet he is known in history to be anything but that. In fact, you see, AG was completely against Sign Language. He was completely against many things related to the deaf and hard of hearing. He was a strict oralist and, oh yeah,….

Ever heard of eugenics? Does World War II ring a bell? Hitler? Nazism? Well, remove one Adolph Hitler and replace him, at another time and place, with AG and you’re pretty close in deciphering his attitude to this “defective race.” Yes, I said “defective.” So did he.

See, AG had this theory that, if the country could keep deaf people separated and they didn’t socialize with each other, things would be easier. Deaf people would eventually disappear. If they could make a mandate that deaf people cannot marry, (and why not throw in some sterilization of deaf people?), they’d have the “problem” covered.

His reasoning? If deaf people didn’t have children and they stayed away from each other, “those kind of people” would eventually die off.  Nice. Kind of gives you a warm, tingly feeling, don’t it?

But, thankfully (times a million), his ideas didn’t stick for the entire COMMUNITY. Sure, there are definitely areas where oralism rules supreme, but there are also lots of places where ASL is accepted and Deaf people are simply a minority with their own language and customs.

As you can see, AG Bell, is one of the most well known advocates against Sign Language and yet ASL prevails. As George Veditz said a long time ago (1913), “As long as we have deaf people on earth, we will have signs.” It’s true. I guess I just wanted to get rid of people’s notions that AG helped the signing community. He may be, in my opinion, one of the most notorious figures in Deaf History.

YOU SAY ORALISM ISN'T PERFECT? RIGHT ON, BROTHER!

As defined at http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/oralism:
Oralism: A philosophy of education for the deaf, opposed to manualism, that uses spoken language consisting of lipreading, speech, the process of watching mouth movements, and mastering breathing techniques.

September 6 – 11, 1880, in the city of Milan, Italy, a group of 164 participants attended the 2^nd International Congress on Education of the Deaf (ICED). The Milan Conference was organized by the Pereire Society. This society was a strong supporter of oralism. They organized the Milan conference with the intent to ban sign language. And they secured this outcome by carefully selecting who was invited, inviting the delegates to see the oralist success in a local school, and by encouraging negative reactions to those giving speeches supporting sign language and cheering those supporting oralism.

This convention consisted of 87 Italians, 56 Frenchmen, 8 Englishmen, 5 Americans, and 8 other delegates. Not a lot of diverse representation for an “international” meeting. During the conference there were 12 speakers who gave their opinions on the issues connected with deaf education. Nine of the 12 speakers gave an oralist view and 3 supported the use of sign language.

At the meeting, the members voted overwhelmingly to outlaw the use of sign language as a method for educating deaf children, in favor of the pure oral method. The group also opposed a compromise motion to include sign language along with speech. And thus began an attempt to abolish the language of Sign.

The original resolutions passed at this meeting did irreparable damage to deaf individuals, educators, professionals, schools and communities around the world. Thankfully, perhaps due to the fact that Gallaudet College (now University) refused to abandon the use of sign and to the founding of the National Association of the Deaf, ASL has persevered. Regardless of what the extremists and strict oralists believe, ASL is the language of the Deaf and always will be.

I was ecstatic to find that, on Monday, July 19^th of this year, the International Congress of the Deaf opened its 21^st Congress with a historic announcement that it formally rejects the resolutions passed at the 2^nd Congress. This move in part was due to the letters and actions from advocacy organizations and leaders throughout the world urging the ICED to embrace signed languages and deaf cultures.

NAD’s President, Bobbie Beth Scoggins, had this to say about the monumental proclamation:

"We are elated to see that, for the first time in 130 years, the ICED has joined us in rejecting the actions of its predecessors and moving forward to improve educational systems for the global deaf and hard of hearing community. We are grateful and proud to see the ICED take this important and very appropriate step towards reconciliation. The formal rejection of the 1880 resolutions made in Milan by the ICED realizes a dream that we have had for 130 years. Together with the ICED we have taken the first steps towards a beautiful, bilingual future of cooperation and mutual respect."

Here’s to a new and brighter future for our deaf and hard of hearing students! Let’s let them use what works for each, instead of a contrived notion that oralism is the only way!

LIE FOR SURE -- DO I HAVE A GUN?

Bert: I got this great new hearing aid the other day. 

Chester: Are you wearing it now? 

Bert: Yep. Cost me $4,000, though. But it’s top of the line! 

Chester: What kind is it? 

Bert: Twelve-thirty. 

Hurt. Denial. Fear. Depression. Bewilderment. Anger. Disappointment. Resentment. Grief. Everyone who experiences major hearing loss as an adult goes through the entire array of emotions. Some days you’re ready to kill the cashier at the store, because you can’t hear the total or see the screen and she won’t write it down. Other days you laugh so hard you pee in your pants when your body-building friend tells you that, because his friends weren’t around, he had to do his sets all alone that day, and you misread “sets” as “sex.” Still other days you sit alone in your room, feeling completely isolated and left out—sure that you will never be able to have a “normal,” causal conversation again. You go through so many different feelings within even one day, that you start suspecting you may have multiple personalities.  

What you don’t feel, or even realize, is that what you’re experiencing is completely normal for anyone with such a major loss in his or her life. So, what do you do? How do you cope? Well, there’s a ton of suggestions available out there—whether you ask for them or not. 

“Learn Sign Language.”

“Practice lipreading. It can’t be that difficult.”

“Just get over it.”

“Join the local deaf community and get involved.”

“Eat green tomatoes on Wednesday at 6 PM.”

Like it or not, everyone seems to have an opinion. Problem is, most of these opinions come from people who have never experienced hearing loss of any kind. You’ve lived your entire life; you have dreams, goals, and ambitions; and then suddenly one day….POOF! Your plans disappear like your kids when it’s time to clean out the litter box. 

There are many options for dealing with late-onset deafness. No one size fits all though. But whether you decide to go this way or that way with your communication methods and life ambitions, there’s one thing that is a ‘must have’ in this situation: You must have a sense of humor about it.

          

Oh, it’s not easy. I never said or suggested that. However, without humor, all that’s left is quitting. And we don’t want you to do that! 

Perhaps you’re reading this and wondering how in the heck you are supposed to find humor in deafness. Oh, ye of little faith. It isn’t hard, actually. It’s there. You just have to have a clear head and an open mind to find it.

Take my friend, Sarah. Her hearing loss was gradual. At one time she was able to use an FM loop at our little church here in Michigan. One day, right after the morning service had started and the pastor began to introduce his new series about abstinence before marriage, she started fumbling with her FM system. She realized that the pastor had forgotten to turn his mic on. So, without missing a beat, she raised her hand, stood up, and asked the pastor (very loudly, as most late-deafened adults do), “Pastor, are you turned on?” Needless to say, it was an amusing anecdote to bring up at all subsequent church gatherings.

Then there was the story I was told about my Aunt Doris. She’d become deafened during a car accident over in England, had come back home, and decided to teach herself to lipread to help facilitate communication. Well, “facilitate” might not be the right word….

After a while of working on and honing her “skill,” she was soon put to the test at a family reunion. As the family gathered around to eat, drink, and be merry, Aunt Doris began to choke. Ever the fast thinker in a stressful situation, Grandpa Joe leapt up, and started slapping her on the back. A minute went by and everything seemed to be OK. Grandpa then lovingly leaned over, and very gently told her, “Big breaths, Doris.” Her response? “They used to be…” Hmmmm……….

And then there’s my dear husband, Kenny. He’s hearing, you see, but because I cannot lipread and use sign language as my main mode of communication, he decided to learn it, too. Sweet, huh? Well, one day I was in a healthcare meeting with Kenny and three Deaf professionals. When one of the Deaf attendees told us that they would be cutting us a check that day, Kenny enthusiastically responded (in sign, of course): “That’s perfect! I can deposit the check right now!” Sounds good, eh? Only two problems: the sign he used for “perfect” was actually the sign for “penis,” and the sign for “deposit?” Well, use your imagination. All I can say is that it was very amusing to watch everyone in the room roar with laughter so hard that they were crying…all at my poor hubby’s expense. Thank goodness he’s a good sport!

Humor. There’s nothing funny about living your life as a hearing person and then being thrust into a world of silence, discrimination, and, sometimes, downright torment. There’s no negating that fact. But if you stop and try…really try…to see if you can find something in the situation (even if in retrospect) that can help make you smile, eventually you’ll find yourself agreeing with the old saying: “Life is short, so laugh it up!” Or, in lipreading, that might be: “Lie for sure. Do I have a gun?” Fitting, wouldn’t you say?

MR. HOLLAND'S OPUS

If you're like me, you think the movie "Mr. Holland's Opus" is awesome. And shame on you if you've never watched it. It's an excellent movie and an excellent example of how learning sign language doesn't necessarily hinder your verbal ability.

When they first find out their son is deaf, they go the medical route. You know, ENTs who say that they need to only speak and not sign. Well, that doesn't work because the boy can't hear anything and the parents can't communicate with him. Frustration abounds.

So they decide to check out a school for the Deaf that uses total communication. This (TC) is my preference. More about that later. Anyway, the mom and the son learn sign language and are able to communicate without any problems. The dad, on the other hand, doesn't take as much initiative (I think he's in denial and hoping the deafness will just go away). But the son uses sign language as a teenager. He doesn't speak, but that doesn't mean he can't speak.

At the end of the movie, you see the son grown up and speaking and signing at the same time. A great triumph for the Deaf community--we can rub their noses in it and say/sign, "See, I told you so!"

Let me be clear hear. I am not against the oral method. If the child is hard of hearing or moderately deaf and  hearing aids help, I say go for it. I would still add sign though. However, if the child is profoundly or severely deaf and benefits very little (if at all) from hearing aids, why not take the total communication route? To be honest, if I had my perfect situation, I would have the child in a school that taught ASL. But that's just me. I see TC as a very valuable way of helping the children understand things and still feel part of the group.

So let's see what you have to say. I'm sure there are plenty who disagree. Let's "hear" it!