TO DARE TO TRUST

Yesterday, I was as prepared as I’ve ever been to present a beginner’s Deaf Culture/Sign Language workshop. I had my notes, I had my handouts and I was prepared to present the material in a witty and fascinating way.

The workshop was to be presented in American Sign Language with two interpreters voicing for me. I was ready. So, I turned on my wit; I turned on my charm; and I was prepared to dazzle and delight the audience with my terrifically sarcastic personality. (I was prepared to be humble, too.)

Then it hit me. “What if…..?”

It wasn’t too long ago that I did a similar presentation. I was just as prepared and had asked an interpreter to attend and voice for me. When she arrived, I gave her a copy of my outline and explained to her that I wanted the workshop to be light and relaxing. Since she already knew me pretty well, I told her to keep in mind my personality and try to be a little silly and fun in her voicing. She nodded and signed that it would be no problem and that I shouldn’t worry.

So, I decided to just go up there and have fun!

I began my workshop with the usual information about who I am, what Deaf Expressions is, what we will be doing….you know, ordinary stuff. As I introduced my husband, Kenny, and myself, I joked around. I teased him about his “creative” signing when he doesn’t know a sign, and I poked fun at myself as well. I was funny, darn it! But the audience just sat there. Their eyes were glazed over and a few even placed their chins into the cup of their palms and started to drool. Laughter? Smiles? Zilch.

I continued on with my presentation. Perhaps the audience simply didn’t think I was as much of a hoot as I thought I was. I began talking about Deaf Culture and telling some hilarious anecdotes about my experiences and the experiences of my Deaf and Hard of Hearing friends. Nothing. No reaction from the audience whatsoever.

Well, that’s not completely true. A few looked a little confused and glanced at each other. A few tried to stifle a yawn. A few more continued to drool and struggled to keep their eyes open.

As I was signing, I looked over at the interpreter and was shocked to find that she wasn’t even talking. I’m signing like crazy, making jokes, having fun, and the voice interpreter is struggling to understand and barely getting by.

It was about then that I decided we needed to call a break. While people were waking up and discussing things they found more interesting than my material (like the life of Justus von Liebig—Father of biochemistry, who recorded minerals in plant ash and proposed the law of minimum), I approached my husband and asked him what was happening.

Apparently, the interpreter, who I had entrusted with my voice, not only was struggling to keep up, but also had absolutely no personality whatsoever. All of my jokes and witty retorts were bombing, because no one was hearing them! What a nightmare!!

You know, when a Deaf person goes somewhere where they need an interpreter to voice for them, there is a lot of trust they have to give. Interpreters are trained to read ASL and express it with their voice in the manner that it is signed. If I’m mad, my interpreter had better sound mad as well. If I’m confused, I expect my interpreter to show that with their voice. And if I’m being light and funny and joking around, my interpreter should be highlighting that with her voice…especially if I’d taken the time before the presentation to specifically let her know that that is what I planned to do and that was what I needed from them.

And this interpreter knew me. She’s been around me a lot and knew how unserious I usually was. She knew how much I liked to have fun and involve my audience. She’d been to plenty of my workshops. She knew my style. At least I thought she did. And she had said it was going to be no problem. Yet, because of her, my presentation lacked the sense of humor that I wanted so adamantly to express.

Think about how difficult it is. It’s hard! If I go to an appointment and am immensely offended about something that is said to me, and I feel very strongly that I should stand up for myself, yet the hired interpreter is a timid person and afraid to sound “rude” or “mean,” what can I do? Chances are pretty good, that I’m not even going to know if she expressed it like I meant it. I have to sit there and live with whatever she says or does. If she doesn’t voice for me in an authoritative way, I get walked on and no one but me ever knows just how ticked off I was about it.

Trust. That’s what we have to do with our interpreters. Sure, we can request specific ‘terps who we feel comfortable with. But you have to start somewhere. You have to work with the people before you can start to feel comfortable with them. Not to mention that who we request isn’t always available. We are bound to deal with whoever is sent our way at some point in life. And that total stranger, we have to trust deeply. It’s downright scary!

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate interpreters. (Most of them, anyway.) But I have found very, very few, who have been able to voice for me in the manner I intend for my signing to be taken. And it stinks!

If you’re an interpreter, you go to school, you practice, you take the exam, you get certified, but don’t stop there! With each and every appointment you are sent to, to act as a go-between between the Deaf or HOH person and whomever the meeting is with, it is vitally important that you get to know that individual and respect them and their personality. Don’t just voice however you would say things. Don’t just think, “Well, I got the idea across for the most part.” You have to BE that person’s voice.

Can you even imagine how scary and difficult it is to have someone else that you don’t know well express your ideas with their voice? If you don’t think it’s a big deal, try it. The next time your kid’s teacher wants to have a meeting to discuss your child’s shortcomings, hire a fellow interpreter (who you have not yet met) to voice for you. How confident can you be with this new person? Would you entrust a stranger to speak for you? Probably not. Yet, we deafies have to at times.

Be careful! Be courteous! And be clear. If you’re not sure what the Deaf person wants to convey…if you’re not 100% sure of their attitude about the information…ask!!! Because what you think you need to express and how you actually express it could make all the difference in the world to that person.

"I'M NOT ANGRY!!! REALLY, I'M NOT!!!!!"

It’s inevitable.

I decide I’m going to use my voice. I start off easy, making sure that the vibrations in my throat feel even and steady. I continue to talk, starting to get involved in the conversation. After a couple of minutes, I feel at ease and begin to just speak as I normally would. I start to notice something. People begin glancing at each other in a questioning manner. They look at me with eyes that seem a bit uneasy and confused.  Then it happens. I realize what they are thinking. They are thinking, “Is she angry?”

It’s inevitable.

I could be as happy as a clam and just super excited about the topic we’re discussing. People think I’m starting to get ticked off.

I could be unsure of something and need to ask for clarification from a specific person. That person thinks I’m challenging what they are saying.

I could be tired and too exhausted to breathe. People think I’m frustrated and annoyed.

It doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m doing. They think I’m upset! And I’m not! I really am not!

Oh, there are also times when I am upset, but it’s not the right atmosphere to show it. Too bad for me. They already think I’m mad when I’m feeling fine. Imagine how I must sound when I want to wring their necks!

I’ve tried breathing exercises. I’ve tried holding my throat throughout an entire conversation (Boy, does that look unusual). But most of all, I always explain to the person I’m speaking with that I cannot hear my own voice and, if I sound angry, I’m not.

Doesn’t matter. Hearing people base a lot of input on how it sounds. Even if I say I’m not mad, if it still sounds that way, that will be their first (and usually only) assumption.

I’m not sure what else to do. I suppose I could turn my voice off for the rest of my life, but why should I have to do that? Sometimes voicing is convenient. However, if, in the end, they all think I’m about to growl, “Them’s are fightin’ words,” maybe I should just keep my mouth shut!

Disclaimer: Despite what this blog may “sound” like, I was not angry, upset, frustrated, nor ticked off writing it. (HUGE SMILE)

MY ADVENTURE WITH PEPPER SPRAY

Working third shift at the hotel had its advantages. My hearing loss wasn’t really an issue, as all I really needed to do was make sure all went smoothly. But it also became very difficult to stay awake. It was boring! I had to find things to do to amuse myself.

A week prior, a friend and I had been discussing a local mugging in the neighborhood. She had told me that there was someone going around, preying on younger women (which I was, at the time). I was very disturbed by this, as I had to walk to and from my car very late at night and very early in the morning. To help me feel safer, she purchased a can of pepper spray and told me how to work it.

As I sat, hunched over, at the front desk at the hotel, I had to do something. My drool from falling asleep was starting to destroy the paperwork beneath. Words were starting to blur from the lake of saliva I was pouring onto it. I decided to find something to occupy myself. That’s when I thought of my new pepper spray. So, I reached into my purse and pulled it out.

I wonder what this stuff smells like, anyway. I mean, how can a spray that smells like pepper be so detrimental to the person I spray it on. Surely it won’t do much damage. And, besides, I’ll bet it smells nothing like pepper. Riiiiight……

I decided to solve the mystery myself, that night at the hotel. So I did what any “intelligent” person would do. I didn’t just go and spray myself in the face. That would be silly. Instead, I sprayed a bit on the wall and walked away for a minute to let it dry.

Sixty seconds later, I walked back up to the spot on the wall and took a long, hard sniff.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH My eyes! My eyes!” With my arms flailing madly in the air, I proceeded to run around in circles in the lobby, screaming in agony and praying I didn’t run into anything, because I was completely blinded.

I was right. It did not smell like pepper.

The scar tissue on my retina and my singed nose hairs should be healed in about another decade.

Moral of the story: If you’re bored and you have a can of pepper spray…read a book.

MAYBE IT'S THE FANGS...........

 (WARNING: Angry Deaf Woman Venting Ahead!!!)

The church my family joined when we moved to Michigan had a sign language interpreter available for the services. It was nice, but I was the only Deaf member. A couple of years later, the interpreter moved, leaving me without an ability to participate in services or activities within the church. Still, my family liked the church, and so we stayed. Well, I should say, they continued to attend services, while I stayed at home alone. After a while, my husband’s work schedule changed and he had to work Sunday mornings. So, he called another member of the church, and asked if they could pick the kids up on their way there. It worked out OK, but I started feeling like a hypocrite…telling them they need to attend church and learn about Jesus, while I sat at home and picked my nose. (I didn’t actually pick my nose…often…I was just using that as an example.)

So, earlier this year, I decided to embark on a journey of finding a church with a good-sized Deaf ministry, that also had a great youth department and was, of course, Baptist. It actually wasn’t as difficult as I’d expected. I found one fairly quickly. It was perfect for the kids: Awesome activities, fun ways of teaching and including them, and lots of opportunities to join in with the crowd and make friends. It had the second largest Deaf ministry in Grand Rapids as well. Cool beans!!

I knew several people in the Deaf ministry (other Deafies, not the interpreters), so that helped make me more comfortable as well. Although people do not believe me, I’m rather shy and going to new places scares me. What if they don’t like me? What if I’m not accepted? This church gave me a glimmer of hope that I would be very much accepted and included.

So…I decided to take the plunge and join the church. I had attended several services: Sunday morning and evening and a Wednesday night Bible Study. For the Sunday morning service, it was a pretty usual set up. The hearing congregation sat in the general area and there was a section set-aside for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing to follow an interpreter. That was great! Most of the interpreters were pretty good, too, which can be rare in a church setting.

The Sunday night and Wednesday night gatherings were good, too. Although the Deaf and Hard of Hearing had their own class. They’re not in with the “general” population. That seems good, unless you’re a mixed couple (my hubby is hearing) and want to attend something together. Sure, he could attend the Deaf Ministry, but it’s not as face-paced as the Hearing studies. So, he went to his and I went to mine. Really not a big deal and, to be honest, I kind of liked the small break from him. Just kidding. Sort of.

But I started noticing something. When I was out in the hall alone, with a hundred other members, no one would approach me, much less try to communicate with me. And when I was with my hearing husband or children in the same situation, people would approach the hearing family members and speak to them. I stood there like a tree stump and smiled (fakely) as if I was just simply honored by their presence. They wouldn’t even look me in the eyes. Scared that, if they did, I might try to communicate with them. And then they’d have to communicate back. Heaven forbid! (Considering it IS church, I suppose if Heaven forbade, it would be a legitimate excuse. But I haven’t found anywhere in the Bible where it states to love your neighbor unless they communicate differently than you.)

When they would approach to speak to my husband, I was OK with it. A little insulted that they wouldn’t even look at me though. But when they approached and had lengthy, laughing conversations with my children and completely ignored me, THAT caused a problem. I will NOT be made to feel inferior to my kids. I will not be ignored while hearing people address the ten-year-old, instead of the Deaf mother standing RIGHT THERE!

That really started to get me miffed. But I was in church. “Though shalt not get miffed in church.” I think I’ve seen it written somewhere. So, I smiled and acted like I was just happy they would share my general space and breathing air with me. How flattering. How daring for them! (Can you sense my sarcasm, here??)

Then, this morning, my 13-year-old daughter, Mollie, and I went forward to join the church at the end of the morning service. My husband was working, so he wasn’t around. I’d seen a joining by another person before and knew what to expect:

We would go forward (an interpreter knew and was to come with me), fill out a paper, give it to the pastor, the pastor would announce us (he’d already spoken to my husband, so he knew the deal), and then the congregation would come forward, form a line, and shake our hands to welcome us. Cool. I’d joined a church before. I knew how it went. However, I’d never joined a church without my hearing husband with me. And that seemed to make all the difference in the world.

We went forward, filled out the paper, gave it to the pastor and stood there as he announced us and our joining to the congregation. Of course, he also mentioned that I was Deaf. That’s OK. I am. He then said the usual about coming and welcoming us as the new members of the church and then he ended the service.

This is where everyone gets up, gets into a line, and welcomes us……right??? Nope. Three member of the Deaf ministry came up and shook my hand, two very elderly hearing individuals came up and said, “Welcome”…everyone else shot out of there as quickly as they could get the doors open. Why? No, they didn’t have an emergency or a pot luck to attend (which could be considered an emergency to a bunch of hungry Baptists). They left, because I’m Deaf. They’re Hearing. No need to welcome me. Let the Deaf Ministry do it. And that leaves me with the anger I’m feeling today.

It seems in this world, that people think people who are alike congregate together. In this case, Hearing people hang out with Hearing people, because obviously, Deaf people have their Deaf friends to hang out with. What year is this, people?? I felt like a Black person back in the old South. You hang out with your kind, ma’am. And I’m sick and tired of it!

It happens everywhere I go. People assume that, because I’m Deaf, I’m unapproachable. Don’t worry about her, she’s Deaf. Is she wants a friend, she’ll find another Deaf person to be her friend. OR they think, Well, I don’t know sign language, so I guess I can’t try to chat with them. They’re different, you see. Bullspit!

Just because I cannot hear a person does NOT mean I should be shunned by anyone who cannot sign! I am not an inferior person because I have a communication difference from a Hearing person. I am just as much a person who needs friends and compassion and to feel included at church as anyone else! And I’m tired of being set apart. Tired, I say!!!!

What doesn’t help (on my end) is that I haven’t always been totally deaf. Growing up, I usually didn’t even have to mention my hearing loss, because I could work around it. So, as a “hearing” person, I know how if feels to be treated like another hearing person. You’re treated like a….GASP…human being. A person on the same level. Not an inferior form of the human race. Which is how Deaf people are mostly treated like. And it is really pissing me off!!!

I know how it feels to be treated “normally,” and I know how it feels to be treated as a Deafie. There is a HUGE difference. Difference in politeness, in respect, in equality. And why?? Just because one can distinguish your vocal sounds better than the other?

(Deep breathing………………………)

Look, I’m not asking for special treatment. If ANYTHING, I’m asking for the opposite. I want to be treated like everyone else. Stop being so scared of me! What is the deal with that, anyway? Why are most people so freaking scared of Deaf people? The only thing I can figure that might help us be treated better is to make ourselves less scary. Perhaps we should all buy some files and file down our fangs. Would THAT make you look at us any differently?

HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW???

After suffering through a trip with me to the hunting store to shop for Kenny’s birthday, I decided to treat my kids to a healthy lunch at Checker’s, a fast food joint. I was exhausted from the shopping trip (trying to figure out what kind of copper arrow is best through my daughter’s…uh…”creative” interpreting, really took the energy out of me), so I decided I would give the drive-thru a shot. My teenaged daughter said she would interpret what they said over the loud speaker and I would answer with my voice. Sounded good to m

“I’d like three cheeseburger meals, please,” I hollered into the speaker after Mollie gave me the go ahead. Blah, blah, blah…Mollie said she couldn’t understand what they were saying. So, I tried it again: “Three cheeseburger meals, please!” Again, Mollie couldn’t tell what the person inside was saying. I became frustrated and yelled, “I’m Deaf! I’m just gonna drive on up to the window!”

When I arrived at the window, the girl opened it and began to speak. I repeated my order for the third time. The girl’s eyes got huge and she looked extraordinarily startled, but I handed her my money, and she closed the window and went back inside.

I looked over to the passenger’s seat and Mollie sat there with huge eyes as well. “What? Why are you guys looking at me that way?”

“Mom, you just screamed your order into that girl’s face like you were talking to the speaker earlier.” Apparently, she wasn’t expecting to be yelled at when I drove up. Poor girl will have that moment of meeting this Deafie burnt into her mind for life.

But how was I supposed to know??? This is just another reason why I don’t like to use my voice – especially in public.

Last week, my family took a trip to the mall to see about clothing sizes. As my children were looking at clothes, I turned to my husband and said something. I had my hands full at the time, so he had no signs to go by.

“I can’t hear a word you’re saying. It’s really loud in the mall.” So, I increased my volume and he said it was perfect. Two minutes later, I said something else in the same “perfect” volume. Everyone within a 30-foot radius stopped and turned to look at me. Wide eyed, I smiled at them, and then turned to give Kenny a questioning expression.

His response: “Well…it wasn’t loud in the mall then.”

How was I supposed to know???

I do have a system to control my volume when I decide to use my voice. I ask the person I’m with to simply give me a pre-decided-on gesture when I’m too loud or too soft. It works well for the moment, but, when you’re out in public, the noise kind of varies, ya know?

And that’s just the volume.

Then there’s the fact that, every time I speak, people think I’m upset with them. Because of my pitch and my breathing (I’m guessing), I sound like I’m in a state of perpetual ticked-offness.  But how am I supposed to know???

And then, of course, there’s pronunciation in general. I’m a writer. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been pronouncing “genre” as gen-er? Yesterday, my son tried to explain that it’s pronounced John-ray. Now, how in the world am I supposed to know that? Just like “pilates.” I’ve always thought it was pronounced pilots. When my hubby corrected me, I thought he was pulling my leg. Trying to get me to say words wrong just for kicks.

But how am I supposed to know???

"YOU SMELL LIKE A DEAF SKUNK!!!"

I was dreaming of the Deaf performer, Peter Cook. We were doing an ASL comedy sketch together. At first, the audience thought it was hilarious. Well, with Peter Cook, that kind of goes without saying. But as I got deeper and deeper into the dream, the audience started to leave. This wretched scent was filling the air and even I began to gag…

“Wake up,” Kenny jostled me from my sleep. I struggled to open my eyes in order to read his signs. But, at 2:30 AM, that wasn’t an easy feat. “The dog got sprayed with a skunk!! You have to get up and start giving her a bath. I’m late for work!”

“Where is she?” I got my fingers to begin to work.

“I put her in the bathroom.”

Stumbling to the bathroom, still half awake, I opened the door and was hit full blast with a smell that would make my Uncle Quimby proud. He was always saying that the bathroom was meant to smell that way. Well, Uncle Quimby, you must be smiling from that golden commode in the sky right about now.

I’d never encountered a skunk before in my life and hadn’t the faintest clue what to do. I picked up a bottle of the kids’ shampoo and poured it over my dog, Maggie’s, head. While I scrubbed as hard as I humanly could, my eyes glazed over from the fumes. Maggie, too, was temporarily blinded by the spray, so we were just two beings, alone in the dark, with a smell that could make even those with the strongest of flatulence cry. And the shampoo did nothing!

I decided that the best bet was to get the dog out of the house. Why was she there to begin with?? Why in the world would my husband let a freshly-sprayed-by-a-skunked dog immediately into the house, through the dining and living room, up the stairs, down the hall, and into the bathroom? But the point was moot. We all stunk… and the house was a disaster.

After getting my dog back outside, I needed to get to the store to buy the magic concoction to use when your dog has been sprayed. All you have to do is mix hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and Dawn dish soap together and it works miracles! Forget the tomato juice, folks! That just makes your dog smell like a skunked tomato. But in order to use this miracle solution, I had to go back outside (where the smell still lingered), get in the van (yet another place to add fumes), and venture into a 24 hour supermarket.

I made it to the market OK. I only lost 29 brain cells and the feeling in my right leg. I got out of the van and sniffed myself. Maybe no one will notice, I thought.

As I entered the front of the store, the ten people there scattered like cattle. Screams seemed to ricochet off the walls and made my body vibrate. People were ducking behind counters and running for the chips to hide themselves. NO! Please don’t come near me! What have I ever done to you??? I could hear them clearly…and I’m Deaf…

Never before had I had such a clearing through a store to get to where I needed to be. I was like Moses and the customers were the Red Sea. But instead of a stick, all I needed was to move in their general direction. It was powerful. I liked it. Until I arrived at the check out counter and no one would help me.

I got what I needed, I did indeed get back home in the van, and I cleaned up that dog. But the house is another matter entirely. The damage has been done—to the house itself and everyone in it. But don’t worry about us. We will again walk upright…eventually. And, if I ever do get to do a skit with Peter Cook? I’ll have plenty of material with work with.

"MOM'S DEAF -- LET'S PARTY!!!"

"But I was home on time, Mom! I've been in the bathroom!"

Now, how was I supposed to know if he was telling the truth? No one else was in the house and he's usually pretty honest..as far as I know. So, I let it go. After all, he was home safe and sound. But how was I supposed to set the standards high when the kids have an advantage over me in that area?

Fact is, once they're out of my sight, there's  simply no way to know what's happening. They can tell me how obedient they've been, but how do I really know? I can follow them around and check on them incessantly, but what mother wants to have to do that?

Being a CODA (Child of Deaf Adults) isn't always easy, but you gotta admit, there's a lot they can get away with because Mom and/or Dad's ears don't pick up the way other parents' do. And it's hard for me, as a mother, to accept this.

However, as frustrating as the situation may be, it isn't completely without humor....

Saturday, I had a family come to our home in regard to their homeschooled daughter taking an American Sign Language class from me. They arrived right on time. I sat them on the big couch; my interpreting husband sat on the little couch; and I sat across from everyone in a chair.

Now this is a business, so I'm doing my darndest to ensure that the meeting and interview go as professionally as possible. I've told the children to stay in their rooms. I had everything written up and tried to explain what exactly the course entailed. All the while this was happening, the mother, seated at the far end of the couch, kept glancing off to the side, wide-eyed, and looking a bit disturbed. I chalked it up to nerves and continued on.

It wasn't until later that night, when my husband made a remark that the family had probably thought we were animal torturers, that I found out just what the mother's disturbed looks were for.

See, my 10-year-old daughter had a friend over. Her room is right next to our living room. Seems that, while I was trying hard to look all professional and confident, these two rugrats were in her room, playing target practice with the cat!

"Get her! Go that way and stop her!"
"Ouch! She just scratched me!"
"Quick, throw a pillow at her!"

And the entire time, the cat was mewing and screeching, calling for help.

So there you have it. As a Deaf parent of hearing kids, I have to face the fact that there will be times when I'm out of the loop or oblivious to their actions. And this is with a 13, 11 and 10-year old. Just wait till they're all teenagers!!!

LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE

I have a dog. A really cute dog. But a hearing or guard dog, she is not.

When I first got Maggie, an adorable Bearded Collie, from the Beardie Rescue, I had all sorts of plans for her. I had wanted a dog that looked like her all my life, but never could get one. Finally my dream had come true! I had also thought about getting a hearing or guard dog at some point, so, naturally, I figured I could make two dreams come true with one full sweep.

That dream never came to fruition.

Oh, Maggie’s a great dog. She doesn’t bite, hump legs (I think only boy dogs do that anyway), or pee in the house…usually. She doesn’t growl at strangers or drink from the toilet…most of the time. She doesn’t get into the trash or pester me all day for a snack either….for the most part. Come to think of it, Maggie doesn’t do much of anything. Unless you include laying spread eagle on the living room floor and occasionally licking herself doing something.

So, when I set off to train her, I had no idea where this would lead.

At first, I tried the use of signs, but there was no getting her to open her eyes, no matter how much “noise” I made. After a while, I figured I would use my voice at first and then ease her way into signs. Ease.

“Come here, Maggie!” Maggie lie on the floor, not even her ears twitched. “Maggie, come!” She shifted a bit, then sighed a huge sigh and went back to sleep. “Maggie, help me! I’m being attacked! Help! Help!” Maggie opened up one eye, licked her chops and returned to Dreamland.

I had to get serious. Even if I couldn’t have a hearing dog per se, I at least wanted a semi-functional guard dog.

I decided to try it out. I asked a friend, whom Maggie had not yet met, to barge in the front door, while Maggie lay sleeping (again) in the living room. I watched from the kitchen, and when the “stranger” stormed in, I started screaming, “Help! Robber! Thief! Murderer! Rapist! Help, Maggie! Help me!” Maggie slowly lifted her head, glanced at me, glanced at the “stranger,” and went back to sleep.

Nothing was working! It was driving me crazy! Do something, girl! Bite! Maim! Sic! Anything!

Finally, I had one last plan. I decided to fake my own life-threatening tragedy. I mean, she had to do something when she found her beloved owner lying on the floor with blood on her face, right? So, I got out the ketchup, poured it on my face (yuck!), stumbled into the living room, and “fainted” onto the floor in front of where she lay. I began to moan, “Ohhhh….someone…please….help…me….I’m…bleeding.” Then I gave a huge, theatrical sigh and succumbed to my demise.

Nothing happened.

I slowly opened one eye to see what Maggie’s reaction was. She was chasing cars in her sleep. Dreaming away, barking and moving her legs as if to run. I did what any unconscious victim would do. I flicked her really hard on her butt and tried again. “Help…Maggie…”

Thirty seconds later, Maggie slowly got up, stretched her front legs, then her back legs, walked up to me, and began licking the ketchup off my face. When she was done, she gave a good, long yawn, walked across the room, and went to sleep on the couch.

Instead of a victim to be rescued, I was a mid-afternoon snack.

I have a dog. A really cute dog. But a hearing or guard dog, she is not.

I'M FREE -- AND IT'S TERRIFYING!

This weekend, my family is going away to Illinois. Actually, they left last night and won't be home till Sunday afternoon. At first, this seemed like a wonderful treat! Oh, don't get me wrong, I adore my husband and kids, but I've had the kids 27/7 since school got out and I'm downright exhausted! I need a break!

Like I said, they left last night. When I signed good-bye and waved to the van as they rode away, I admit I did feel a little empty. But I was still pretty excited about being alone to do ...nothing... for two-and-a-half days. I waved good-bye, clapped for the dog to come in, and shut the door behind me. And that's when it hit me....FEAR.

I hadn't been alone in that house overnight for years. In fact, I can't remember the last time I was alone in the house for the night. So when it started getting late, I started getting more and more anxious.

I don't think many people realize that it can be pretty darn scary when you can't hear a thing. Turning off all the lights (well, most, anyway), locking the doors, going to bed alone...with no way of knowing if someone was breaking in, knocking on my door to warn me of something, calling me (I only have a small light attached directly to my VP, which is downstairs in the dining room, and I can't afford more), or if there was a storm and a tornado hit.

I am poor and cannot afford signals and such. I have to work with what I have...a text pager and email. I do have a landline phone downstairs for the other members of my family or for emergency calls to 911. I can also call 911 through my VP, but that, too, is downstairs, and I hardly ever use it. I'm talking an inch of dust!

So, if someone were to break into my home, there's no way I would even know...until they killed me. Then I could look down from heaven and smite them. But I have no way of contacting 911 from where I sleep. Also, as amazing at it sounds, the last time a HUGE storm hit (I'm talking HUGE), I didn't even know it had rained till I woke up the next morning, looked outside, and saw trees laying in the street. So, if a tornado warning blares, I wouldn't know it.

So, suffice it to say, it's scary for me to be alone in my home. The only relieving fact is that I do get downtime and things might not go wrong. But is it enough to get me through the weekend? Heck, yeah! I'm alone! I'm alone! I'm alone! No kids! No kids! No kids!

Yea!!!!

GIMME DEAF POWER!

I believe that Deaf people, not being disabled (except by hearing people who choose to make it seem that way), can have power. Deaf power! Ever since that wonderful day in 1988, when we succeeding in ensuring that the president of Gallaudet University would, indeed, be deaf, I think we’ve been taking more steps to show it. However, the other night at dinner, I got to taste just how far from arriving we are.

It was interesting, actually. The previous day, I had gone to lunch with a new Deaf friend. We entered, gestured that we needed a seating of two, and followed the hostess to a booth. Once the waitress saw that we were Deaf, she was very cooperative. We pointed to what we wanted and figured out a way to convey the rest. It was a nice lunch with a new friend.

Then, the next night, my hearing husband decided to take me to dinner to get out of the house and have some alone time away from the kids. When we entered the restaurant, we were both greeted with welcomes. Because they added more than the usual, “Hi! Welcome,” Kenny interpreted for me. I responded directly to the hostess. She stood there with a deer-in-the-headlights look.

After we were seated, the waitress came up and greeted both of us. We both smiled warmly and said, “Hello.” When she asked what I wanted to drink, I showed her on the menu, making it obvious that I was deaf. That was all she needed to know. For the rest of the meal, anytime she would approach us to ask us a question, she would get my husband’s response and not even look in my direction. Often, she would come when my head was down, ask Kenny how things were, and leave. Never tried to get a response from me. Doesn’t it matter if I’m OK, too? Obviously not to her.

Then, as always, when it was time to get the check, it went directly to Kenny. No asking. No wondering. Sure, that might have been because he’s a male and I’m a female, but I think a lot had to do with the fact that, since I am deaf, she assumed the hearing person would pay for it. Why? My money’s good, too. But that’s how it always goes.

Like it or not, as deafies, hearing people will always give the power back to other hearing people. Doesn’t matter if we’re black, white, male, female, young, old. If we’re deaf and there’s a hearie around, they are the ones other hearies give the power to. And it stinks.

Let’s hope better times for the future.