Those of you who do not know me may not know that I have a condition called Unilateral Hearing Loss (UHL). More specifically, I have profound sensorineural hearing loss in my right ear. My left ear is about as good as can be expected, only suffering the slight wear of a girl who listens to her music too loud and occasionally works with power tools. So, unlike somebody with profound loss in both ears, if you were to walk up to me and start talking, I would hear you (as long as you were somewhat on my left). But unlike somebody with normal hearing in both ears, there are certain things I struggle to do or am unable to do the standard way.
I am not writing this piece as an informative piece on what I can and cannot do--just know that I strongly resonate with I. King Jordan’s quote, “Deaf people can do anything hearing people can do, except hear.” There are some things that are physically impossible for me to do the way other people do them, but that has never stopped me from learning to do things a different way in order to achieve the same, if not better results (except, if I am being totally honest, learning to ride a bike). This attitude probably stems in part from the attitude my pediatric otolaryngologist had when he found out about my deafness. (Note: I was born before hospitals started screening hearing in infants, so my family and I did not discover my deafness until I was three years old.) At that time, the trend in healthcare was to encourage hearing families who had children with hearing loss to take whatever means necessary to make their children’s lives as “normal” as possible. Cochlear implants had been developed hugely during that time, so children with severe enough hearing loss were getting those. Other children were getting hearing aids and speech therapy. If there was any chance at all at giving a child access to a mainstreamed hearing education, that was what the doctors recommended. My family and I participated happily in this process, and I grew up living life as if I could hear as well as everybody else when possible. When it was not possible, I would compensate in other ways. I was late to talk and late to walk, but I was quick to sing and quick to dance. I struggled with certain speech sounds, so I learned a lot of words in an effort to avoid needing to use words that contained those difficult sounds. My balance was affected, so I took ballet and gymnastics to try to correct this problem, and when I turned out unable to correct it, I mastered the art of slapstick comedy. I took every opportunity to make sure as few people as possible would know about or be able to recognize my hearing struggle and everything that went with it.
My first real encounter with American Sign Language happened when I was in junior high. I was walking through the food court at the mall one Thursday night, and I saw a large group of people who had pushed tables together. They were making a lot of noise, but it wasn’t talking, and upon closer inspection I realized they were signing. Just like every other group of people conversing in the room, they would all occasionally erupt in laughter or shouts of dismay, and if one person had the floor too long, side conversations would start among people who weren’t near the action. It all seemed so natural to me, except that they were not using a language I had much familiarity with. But as I stood back watching that conversation unfold, I felt something inside me shift, and I suddenly knew I wanted to know everything I could about the language.
I have come a long way since that day. I have developed a deep, passionate love for American Sign Language. It is the most beautiful language in the world. In my endeavors to learn it, I have met some of the most incredible people I know. I have developed a broad understanding of Deaf culture, and I have actively participated in it in many ways. The day I got my sign name was probably one of the best days of my life. Aside from my relationship with Christ and the community I have found centered around that faith, it is the only other community of any kind in which I have ever felt truly at home. When I am Deaf with a capital D, I don’t think about any of the things I can’t do. I feel as though I really can do anything.
When I introduce myself to anyone who signs and they ask me if I am hearing, I proudly respond that I am “hard of hearing.” To me, that sign means something special. (If you don’t already know the sign for hard of hearing, you should look it up so you know what I am talking about.) When I take my h handshape, shift it to the right and reemphasize it, I see myself saying, “there are two sides of me.” I do not refer literally to my right and left--I mean that at the same time, I am Deaf and I am hearing. I am confident that I can do anything, because to an extent I can hear. But I am also confident that I can do anything, because to an extent I cannot hear. This is the power of hearing culture, and this is the power of Deaf culture.
I realize that I took a long time to explain that, especially considering the fact that I did not write this as an informative piece about myself. Instead, I want to address a problem I can see from my perspective.
There is an enormous rift between hearing and Deaf cultures. On both sides, I think, there is a lack of understanding so deep it cannot be fixed by even the most eloquent, masterfully crafted blog post (which takes the pressure off of me, since this certainly is not that). Sometimes, Deaf people feel as though hearing people are too lazy or too prideful to understand them and their culture. Hearing people, on the other hand, sometimes have no access to the information they need in order to understand Deaf culture. I could go on, but I do not think I need to. The problem is undeniable.
So how do we solve it? Wouldn’t it be nice if you had read all of this so I could give you the answer? Unfortunately, I don’t know the answer. I do know, however, that it is going to take some compromise.
To the Deaf community I say this: there are so many hearing people who want to learn more about your language and culture. When you find those people, I implore you to let them in. I cannot even imagine what my life would look like if you had not done so for me.
To the hearing community I say this: there is a whole world around you that deserves to be seen and acknowledged. Just close your ears and listen. Start by learning a few signs, and you'll fall in love. Open your eyes and your mind, and you will be tremendously blessed, as I know I have been.
Hopefully those two statements cover all of you reading this post, but lastly I want to address one very small group of you who may feel as though you are caught in the middle--not just of the Deaf/hearing divide. To any of you who see a gap in human understanding of any kind and don’t know which side of the gap you belong on, I say this: you don’t belong on either side. Nobody does. At the end of the day, we are all human beings. There are so many more important things to focus on than the ways in which we are different. Throw a little dirt in the rift and dust off your hands. I truly believe that if you do, the rest of the world will fall in line.
"Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony." -Colossians 3:12-14
Callie, that was BEAUTIFUL. Thank you so much for sharing this. Poignant, personal, and powerful... this piece really impacted me. <3 You are a blessing!!!
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