Deaf Issues

How do you behave when you find yourself unexpectedly interacting with an individual with a disability?

Sometimes people ask me what it was like to grow up as a hearing child of deaf parents. The truth is, I have no idea because I have no frame of reference; my childhood was the only one I experienced. But I never understood why hearing people often reacted so oddly to my parents’ deafness.

Children of Deaf Adults have come to be known as CODAs. Wikipedia notes, “CODAs often navigate the border between the deaf and hearing worlds, serving as liaisons between their deaf parents and the hearing world in which they reside.” That’s true. When I was with my parents in public, I didn’t have the luxury of daydreaming — I was always on alert for anyone who tried to communicate with my parents when my mom or dad weren’t looking at them.

The only instances I can recall of being embarrassed about my parents’ deafness were in quiet settings when my father misjudged the volume of his own voice. I remember feeling my face flush, imagining everyone staring at us when Dad spoke too loud.

More often, however, I felt embarrassed for the hearing people who didn’t seem to know how to behave in the presence of deaf people. I tended to wince when people shouted at my mother upon realizing she was deaf. I had to plead, “Please don’t yell. She can’t hear you.”

When I was in elementary school, a kid named Raymond really struggled to wrap his mind around the idea that my parents couldn’t hear. “If your mom is deaf, how does she know if there’s a bug in her food?” The question caused me to wonder so many things about Raymond’s home life that I was struck speechless.

That wasn’t the only time I had trouble finding the right words. In the 1970s, our home phone rang with solicitation calls several times a day.

“Hello?”

“Hi, may I speak with your mom please?”

“I’m sorry, she’s deaf and unable to speak on the phone. Can I give her a message?”

“How about your father?”

“He’s deaf too.”

“Oh. Okay, I’ll call back later.”

I had that conversation over and over again.

I never understood the confusion many hearing people experienced upon learning my parents were deaf. “Then why can you hear?” Do you have to lead them around?” “Can they read?” “How did you learn to speak?” In response to the last question, I explained that we learn to speak from our environments. For example, children of foreign-born parents don’t inherit their parents’ accents.

I always felt relief when strangers stayed calm upon learning that my mother was deaf. They patiently tried to communicate directly with her, listening closely to understand her. They spoke clearly without contorting their lips so she could see what they were saying. Sometimes they wrote notes back and forth. However, my more frequent experience was watching hearing people freeze up, fail to understand her and beclown themselves in misguided efforts to be understood.

My uncle, who is also deaf, once picked up a magazine in my parents’ living room titled Deaf Issues. He exclaimed, “The only issue deaf people have is with hearing people!” I knew exactly what he meant.