One reason why I felt so strange was because my parents are Deaf. Back then we said Deaf/Mutes. Even further back in history they said Deaf and Dumb (shudder). It wasn't so very far back that was the case - even today I can find an old timer or two, or very ignorant person, that says Deaf and Dumb (pronounced "Deef and Dum") - and they mean no harm, except ignorance can be very harmful. The source of the word Dumb back then was that it meant temporarily unable to speak. But the reason why it was thought that they are unable to speak is what gave the word dumb such a hurtful meaning. But I digress.
My parents are Deaf. They cannot hear. They both have the ability to vocalize but never learned when at school, at least not enough to vocalize with their mouths. They both communicate using their hands and body - American Sign Language, ASL. They do not read lips. My parents attended school from the late 1930's until the late 1940's - give or take a year or two, in the midwest. Back then I think the emphasis was to give the Deaf the ability to communicate via ASL and the ability to read and write (English). Understand ASL and English are two separate languages - what my parents learned to read and write was more of an ASL version of English. They essentially learned the English word equivalent for the signs they used to so gracefully communicate. So when they wrote notes to hearing people, I was often embarrassed at how "dumb" they sounded and usually the recipient of said note was often confused to the point of looking at me for translation. And so the words "Deaf and Dumb" really, really rubbed me raw. I knew my parents were not dumb because of their level of writing/reading skills. At a much younger age, it felt like it. I learned to read very early, and buried myself in books. In the books I read, not one family had Deaf people in their family, so I had no idea what a normal family with Deaf members was like. I only knew what a normal family was like - at least in the books. Reading those books, I was sure that Irish fairies had put me down in the land of corn and pig farms to replace the child they had stolen from this family. And they used me as the replacement because I was or might be smart enough to think fast on my feet and escape. And, Oh, escape, I did...If only cultural anthropology was taught in grade school.
I've been hearing a lot in the past year or two, that today's Deaf parents do not and will not let their hearing children act as interpreters for them in the public. This has been a puzzling revelation to me. But another revelation, I am so glad to see, is that it appears that the Deaf are now taught English, along with ASL. And this time, it's American English, the same as we hearing learn it. So when a Deaf person writes down a note, you can read it, understand it, and in fact may never discern the note was written by someone who does not have a grasp of the English language, unlike my parents, who might as well have been born in another country. But today's Deaf is not what my story is about - it is just another part of what I've learned about who I am. I'm finding that my childhood was unique in many ways. I often think, nodding my head knowingly, "Oh, yeah! I know what it's like to be CODA!" (Child of Deaf Adults) when I see CODA groups now on Facebook - but now I get the distinct impression today's CODA and I have nothing in common.
No one ever believes me when I tell them I was painfully shy as a child. They laugh and say, "You?" Yes, me. Nothing was scarier than to go visit some old people who would roar in my face like a bear and laugh (my mom's father). And nothing was more humiliating than to facilitate a conversation between my parents and a hearing person in public. Either because of the written notes that were misunderstood or because I was handy as a translator. The store clerk: "May I help you?" directed pointedly at my parents, whose backs were to said clerk. I would have to explain "They are deaf." and apparently that was not enough. "They cannot hear you!!!" then tap, tap, tap on the parental unit to get parent attention, "Look," I sign, "there is a store clerk asking if you want something?" The parent will turn around look at the clerk and maybe ask me to ask them "Where is the size 12?" or "I read there was a sale on socks - these don't look like they are on sale." and from that point on I was stuck interpreting the conversation.
Go to the doctor's - I would have to both interpret for my parents at their appointments or even at mine. I didn't always interpret for my parents, some things were too...modest. And they wound up getting a lot of their health care screwed up - because all translations were done through notes. And when I did it - I didn't always get things exactly right.
Once I had a terrible, terrible pain in my stomach. My dad came to get me from school and take me to the doctor's. This was the days of long office waits - 3-4 hours were not unheard of - one did not go to the emergency room unless one had a bone sticking out of a limb - or had stopped breathing. By the time I got in to see the doctor - the pain had disappeared. The doc says it's probably just gas. I didn't quite understand but I understood it was something that could come and go - and it was definitely gone. And when asked what caused it - maybe he said constipation or poor food habits - somehow the only thing my parents got out of it was popcorn. To this day, my mother always warns me when I eat popcorn that it will play havoc with my stomach. I've never experienced another gas pain as intense as that one or if I did - I knew what it was - and somehow knowing what it was - made it easier to deal with. But what I do know is that popcorn did not cause the gas in later years - whether it did back then or not. My memory is fuzzy but I think I glommed onto the popcorn as a culprit because we had some the night before - it was a way of giving my parents a black and white answer they could understand. Otherwise, I might be there for ever trying to explain it all when I barely understood it myself.
We rarely if ever ate out but when we did it was a super huge treat. My dad would tell us we could have two food items and a drink. And yes, a drink could be a shake. Me, being the underprivileged child that I was would always order 2 french fries and a chocolate shake. I was making up for a lot of lost time. But I rarely enjoyed my meals. As we sat there eating and talking - so many people would stare at us. Some walking by, some in their own tables and booths. Just open staring no attempts to hide it. By the time I was 9 or 10, I understood enough to know what I was eating was not very healthy and very fattening. I already had body issues thanks to my grandparents comparing me to the good cousins who were all very painfully skinny. So I imagined as these people were staring at us - that they could see what awful foods we were eating. My brother was like me, 2 fries and a shake (except he was thin as rail, too) my sister tried to be more prim and proper and would order a burger, fries and soda or shake. I think my mom order fish, fries and soda and my dad, 2 burgers and shake. So probably not too many of us at the table eating well and certainly no quarter pounders or whoppers - those were expensive. So now I wonder - can they see how cheap we are? Can they see how badly we eat? And losing my appetite fast. Yeah, I know now, they were watching us sign - many have told me how amazing and beautiful they found it. I get it. But the staring was hard to deal with as a kid with too many self-esteem issues.
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