I’m not talking about fun athletic rivalries, but rivalries where families and staff go to great lengths to badmouth other schools, criticizing the quality of education, communication levels, and even the students. This blows my mind. What do people think they accomplish by condemning families and students for choosing specific schools?

A few years ago, I watched a teacher’s face twist in disgust as he said to a student attending a rival school, “Why do you go here? It’s a terrible school. Why don’t you come to my school? It’s got better education, better opportunities. Why would you want to lower yourself by staying at this school? You can do better.” This teacher – who I considered an honorable man until that conversation – didn’t realize anyone was watching him. I was floored because I had never seen this side of him, although I had heard stories. The student’s school was actually a great school with a solid enrollment size; on the other hand, the teacher’s school was struggling with enrollment. To this day, I find it sad that the teacher felt an aggressive pressure tactic was the way to recruit students. But what broke my heart was how the student looked defeated, even embarrassed, by the teacher’s words.

I’ve also heard stories of how parents are treated by peers, board members and community members once they decide to send their children to a specific school. It’s not just the parents; the students also get this treatment sometimes. After I was encouraged by teachers at the Illinois School for the Deaf (ISD) to go to a school that could provide for my particular needs, I decided to join my newly remarried mother in the Chicago area, a good four hours north. When word got out about my decision, a classmate’s parent who also worked at the school came up to me and fingerspelled angrily, “Traitor.” I was 10 at the time. I still wonder if he realized that ISD’s teachers – both Deaf and hearing – were the ones who encouraged me to find another program.

So many Deaf schools have seen drastic drops in enrollment numbers over the past few decades, but many are also seeing their numbers climb back up. Many look to Texas, Indiana, Fremont and Maryland as the “best” schools because of their sizeable enrollment numbers, among other reasons. And they certainly are great schools. This does not mean that we have license to criticize or look down at the smaller Deaf schools, charter schools or deaf programs. We must band together instead of dividing ourselves by competing over which school is better or making snooty comments intended to degrade.

Some students flourish in schools with large enrollments, and others prosper in schools with smaller enrollments. Anyone, especially me, knows there is no one-size-fits-all approach for students. After attending a large public elementary school and a moderately sized deaf school and public junior high school, I went to a high school with nearly 2,000 students. Next was Gallaudet University, with about 2,000 students. For graduate school, I went to the University of Illinois-Chicago, with at least 30,000 students. I can safely say that at each school, there were challenges and drawbacks, but there were also benefits. What I was most affected by was not the school’s enrollment size, but the quality of one-on-one and class instruction I received, the Deaf community surrounding the school, and the opportunities I had before me.

We need to encourage, rather than discourage. We want deaf students to grow up surrounded by deaf people who are peers and role models – and not be isolated. The bottom line is we cannot afford to generalize or badmouth a school based on personal motives, recruitment, or even one student. We also cannot base our comments on what the school’s reputation was in the past. Schools have ebbs and flows, and if a school had a poor reputation during the 1980s or 1990s, that doesn’t mean it’s still weak today. Change constantly takes place, especially at many deaf schools.

When a student says what school he or she attends, we should say, “That’s awesome! Tell me more,” rather than, “Isn’t that school mostly hearing people? I’ve heard the education is lousy there,” or “Why don’t you go to so-and-so instead?” Don’t punish, discourage or embarrass the student. This serves absolutely no purpose, and only furthers the bitterness that may already exist.

Deaf education is a precious thing. We must continue nurturing our deaf schools through collaboration, pushing for higher standards, and ensuring that our deaf children grow up with healthy self-esteem levels and identities. It’s not about being “better than you,” nor is it about what school has the highest enrollment numbers. It’s about our future.

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When I went through my father’s things after his death, I found newspaper clippings about Gallaudet. They were mostly about the Deaf President Now (DPN) protest, but one stood out. It was from 1986, when Gallaudet College became Gallaudet University.

I was surprised that my father had even saved the article. My father, who was academically dismissed from Gallaudet in 1972, was not by any means what we would call a remarkable community leader. Rather, he was quite ordinary; he had an entry-level job with the state and rarely went to deaf events outside of town.

Yet he felt that Gallaudet’s accreditation as a university was noteworthy enough to save a clipping about. This, to me, speaks volumes about the influence of Gallaudet.

Alumni and students alike are constantly bombarded with dazzling publicity about the world’s only liberal arts university for deaf students. Recruiting materials highlight carefully selected students and alumni – each with a determined look or a sunny smile – who come from every cranny and nook of the world. It’s easy to get drawn into how great Gallaudet is and not consider the effects that the university’s antics and accomplishments have upon ordinary people like my father.

Gallaudet had such an impact upon me long before I became a student. When the DPN protest took place, I was a freshman in high school; the protest greatly influenced how hearing peers and “teachers of the hearing impaired” at my high school perceived us deaf students. Years later, I am friends with many of the DPN leaders but I still get starry-eyed around them. Although there are so many more opportunities today that we no longer perceive as remarkable like they were decades ago, I continue to be in awe of so many deaf people and their ordinary and not-so-ordinary accomplishments. This sense of awe is something I hope to never let go of ever again.

I say again because I lost that feeling once, in 2006. The outrage and deep division over the presidential selection in 2006 had been simmering for years. Despite media reports and what some people said, the anger that surfaced wasn’t an overnight thing. In fact, I remember exactly when I began feeling disillusioned about the division at Gallaudet: during my husband’s graduation in 1993.

You see, he was among the wide-eyed freshmen at Gallaudet in 1988 when DPN took place. By 1993, the last of these freshmen had graduated, taking with them the pride and sense of entitlement that DPN had instilled in deaf people everywhere. As I watched the graduation ceremony, I was sad that the DPN veterans wouldn’t be students anymore, because they were the movers and shakers then. They would call the university out on unfair situations, and constantly kept the administration on its toes – but they always made sure everything was done with a positive attitude. I was fortunate to have Mary Malzkuhn – often called the “Mother of DPN” –as my academic adviser and teacher for my government classes, which were filled with many DPN veterans. I learned so much from them and was always excited to be in their presence because they were superstars to me. Watching them march across the stage that day, I wondered if future classes would understand the sparkle that existed immediately after DPN. When I came on campus in 1991, I was blown away by how everyone was so confident about his or her roles at Gallaudet. They had the right to be there and had the right to expect nothing but the very best in communication access, in educational quality, and in respect.

By the time I graduated in 1995, there was a growing black cloud hanging over the university, a cloud of fear. The division between students and the administration was deepening at an alarming rate. I frequently saw faculty and staff being pulled in two directions. People quit or were fired. There was a lot of underground talk about the administration’s intimidation tactics. Still, I was no longer a student so I figured I didn’t need to pay much attention.

A few years later, I finally understood this intimidation firsthand. When I was the editor at Silent News, Ryan Commerson told me that the university was closing the television and film program. I assigned a writer to the story, and she contacted the administration for a statement. She got a response that essentially freaked her out, and she forwarded it to me in a panic. I read the e-mail and was astonished by the contents.

The e-mail threatened Silent News with a lawsuit if we proceeded with the story. The writer hadn’t even asked any hard-hitting questions. What had started as a somewhat dull news story was now a controversy. This was a signal that something was terribly wrong at the university, that this was a politically fueled approach by the administration. I responded and said that this was Gallaudet’s opportunity to clear up misunderstandings about the program’s closure (or as they called it, merger with another program). The administration’s response remained unchanged: that a lawsuit would be filed if we went ahead with the story.

Not one who easily backs down, I gave the go-ahead to run the story. Just as I had predicted, the lawsuit was an empty threat. But that e-mail exchange was the perfect indicator of what was to come, especially considering how an administrator involved in that e-mail exchange was at the center of the storm in 2006.

Regardless of what people felt about the 2006 protest, it was a catalyst for change, one that was and is desperately needed. Although bitterness is rampant in the blogsphere/vlogsphere, I sense that most people are ready for positive change. At least, I know I am. This positive change is part of why President Davila has been so warmly welcomed and so successful in taking care of business. More importantly, he has brought back something that was missing for too long: integrity.

Whoever the new president is – at the time of this writing, the president hadn’t been announced yet – he or she must strengthen this integrity immediately. The new president must ensure that the faculty, staff, students and alumni can see this integrity in action.  These groups must be inspired to carry the same integrity and pride in our identity, our language, and our culture.

I’m optimistic that any one of the four candidates will help dissolve the black cloud that has hung over Gallaudet for at least a decade. Having said that, it is crucial that the new president be a mover and shaker, unafraid to create an ideological change that brings back the pride we once had. For me, what will affirm that the new president is doing the job is when ordinary citizens begin saving clippings about Gallaudet’s accomplishments once again.

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A question was asked: “What do you think about teaching babies sign language? Is it worth the time and trouble?” As the Deaf mother to two Deaf children, I eagerly read on to see how Dr. Cohen responded. He wrote:

Teaching your baby signs before he can talk is a fun thing for some parents to do, but I think its benefits are limited in scope. What’s more, it may even have some drawbacks.

Proponents say teaching a baby to sign helps him communicate before he can talk and that this prevents frustration and resulting tantrums. But I believe that signing may actually delay a child’s ability to deal with frustration. Basically, a baby will naturally begin to talk when he becomes irritated enough by not being able to speak. Learning sign language may act as a distraction but will not get at the root of frustration. Also, once a baby is able to sign, he is actually able to speak, too - so why not let him go directly to speaking?

In my practice, I also see delays in talking among some babies whose parents practice signing with them. The parents’ enthusiasm actually reinforces the babies’ not talking. This is not a very big deal, however-eventually, they all learn to talk.

The bottom line, in my opinion: If signing with your baby is a fun activity for both of you, do it. But think of it as a game-that’s its main value. It won’t do any real harm, but it won’t work any miracles, either.

I was so disappointed to see his nonchalant, almost negative, response to this. In particular, what bothered me were these words: “…think of it as a game” and “…delay a child’s ability to deal with frustration.”

My daughter, now 20 months old, had a vocabulary of over 100 words by the time she was 12 months old. Today, her vocabulary is well over 200 words – actually, we’ve stopped counting because it’s not about numbers for us, and because there are simply too many words she knows. Rather, it’s about what she says and her ability to express complex, abstract thoughts. She also started signing in sentences well before she was one year old. This is important, because children generally can’t speak (as in vocally) full sentences at that age. In fact, many publications state that the average spoken vocabulary of a one-year-old is between one and three words. See why I swear by the value of sign language?

Let me share an example of my daily interactions with my daughter (my son is only three months old, so he’s not quite signing yet). Yesterday, I bought her a Sesame Street “Look and Find” book. One of the pages had a picture of a wolf and a pumpkin. I showed my daughter the sign for “wolf” (she already knew “pumpkin”) then moved onto the other pages without further ado.

This morning, when I greeted her in her crib, she excitedly signed, “WOLF PUMPKIN WOLF PUMPKIN!” Once out of the crib, she ran to the book, pointed to the wolf, and signed, “DREAM WOLF PUMPKIN DREAM.” She was saying she’d dreamed about that wolf. I’m not sure she fully understands what “dream” means, but she knows the word because she saw a picture of the Cookie Monster dreaming about cookies.  (Think maybe she’s a fan of Sesame Street? Yeah.)

That, to me, shows how babies and toddlers can use sign language to express abstract thoughts. We don’t always realize children have the ability to understand abstract concepts – because they usually can’t tell us. I tire of how people think children who sign have no language, and that the children are simply making “cute” gestures or pictures. Sit with my daughter for 30 minutes, and you will walk away happily exhausted because she talks non-stop, just like her mama, grandmother and great-grandmother. I dare anyone to say that sign language for my children is a “distraction,” like Dr. Cohen claims.

Simply put: sign language is not an obstacle to speech or language development. In fact, the opposite has been found to be true. American Sign Language (ASL) is a stand-alone language, and studies consistently show that ASL actually helps the development of speech and English. Research also shows that babies begin to express themselves in gestures early on, babbling, and that it reduces frustration. That’s probably why baby sign language has become so popular – not because it’s a trend, not because it’s a cute thing to learn, and not because it’s “a game.”  Rather, it’s popular because it works for so many families and children.

“But Dr. Cohen is talking about hearing children,” you may say. True. Still, once again, studies have shown that babies who learn sign language prior to speech development generally use signs to accelerate their English acquisition. Just ask hearing people who have deaf parents and learned ASL before they learned to speak. More often than not, their language skills are superior – and they speak just fine. ASL is hardly a game to the millions of families who use it for daily communication, and to call it such not only promotes a negative attitude, but is offensive to families like mine.

Even with Dr. Cohen’s disclaimer that he was merely sharing his opinion, he should have read up on existent literature showing the enormous benefits of children learning sign language, deaf or hearing. As a medical professional, his opinion carries weight, and so he has an obligation to share accurate, well-researched information. It disheartens me to think of the impact of Dr. Cohen’s opinion on the magazine’s 500,000 readers.

Perhaps I should send Dr. Cohen a tape of my daughter signing and see if he thinks signing is really a game rather than a bona fide language. Heck, my daughter can even tell him about her dreams starring Count von Count, Cookie Monster, Elmo and Oscar.

If you disagree with Dr. Cohen’s perspectives, drop him a line at babybasics@fitpregnancy.com.

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Sure, I knew how other researchers could use the information learned as part of this genetic research for unethical purposes – who can forget A.G. Bell? I also knew that if sterilization of genetically deaf people ever took place again, my family and I would be at extreme risk. I have never supported the medical view of “deafness” (insert sarcasm) as something that requires repair and annihilation; I’m of the school that being deaf is a blessing, a cultural identity.

So why in the world would I want my genes tested?

The primary reason: curiosity. My parents are deaf, as are several other relatives in my family. I’d always told people that I was deaf because of my father’s side of the family, since my mother’s family had no history of any other deaf person. But I had nothing to back this up; it was all speculation. I’m an only child, like my mother, so I had no idea of whether my siblings would have been deaf or not.

My husband is third-generation deaf, and we assumed that if we had children who were deaf, it’d be genetically because of his side of the family. Still, we weren’t sure – not that the test results would have changed how we raised our children whatsoever; we would never have allowed the results to change our perspectives of how awesome children are. My husband and I went back and forth on whether to do the testing or not, and finally decided to go ahead and get tested. I was about six months pregnant with our first child at the time.

A year later, we got the test results. By now, our daughter had been born deaf and was well on her way to being a delightful bowlegged terror in pink (or purple, depending on her mood) slippers.

Without going into all the biological mumbo-jumbo, there are approximately 400 genes that can make a person deaf. Both of my parents had at least one changed copy of the same gene that caused them to be deaf – which stunned us, for a simple reason. We didn’t expect my mother to also have the gene. My grandmother, who helped raise me and taught me much that I hope to teach my children, has always carried guilt for “causing” my mom to be deaf. Never mind that my grandmother is a fantastic woman who completely embraces our cultural identities as Deaf people. She is first and foremost a hearing person, and was raised to believe that deaf people were “handicapped.” It’s only understandable that she had this guilt for so many years; it was how she was raised to think. Mind you, she has never really talked about it because she never wanted any of us to feel negatively about being deaf. She loves us exactly how she should: unconditionally, happily and wonderfully.

We had always suspected Mom was born deaf because of a surgery my grandmother had during her first trimester of pregnancy. But since my mother has at least one changed copy of the gene, this blew our suspicions out of the water. However, this also meant that at least one of my grandparents also had the gene. Which one was it? My mother immediately got tested.

She got her results early this year and we all were surprised again. Both my hearing grandparents were carriers of the gene. What this meant was that my grandmother’s surgery had absolutely nothing to do with my mom being deaf; it simply was, as my grandmother said, “God’s plan.”

My mother, who grew up oral and didn’t learn sign language until she was 17, still gets labeled as “hard of hearing” – not that there’s anything wrong with this – by people. I’ve had many people tell me my mom can’t be Deaf because she can speak well. I’m used to the astonishment on their faces when I tell them my mother is audiologically deafer than me.

Never mind that no deaf person should have his/her cultural identity challenged by anyone. My mother struggled for most of her life trying to figure out if she belonged to the Deaf community or to the hearing community. She has always been on the margin of either, even though she is the Deaf mother of a Deaf child and a Deaf grandchild, married to a Deaf man, graduated from a deaf school, and attended a deaf university. The community simply couldn’t accept that someone who could speak well and hear on the phone, and didn’t have native-level fluency in ASL could be audiologically and culturally deaf. This constant doubting of my mother’s identity took its toll on her.

It wasn’t her fault she grew up not knowing sign language. It wasn’t my grandparents’ fault, either, because Mom was born during a generation where people were told that sign language wasn’t a good thing. The point is, my mother continued to struggle with the labels thrown upon her even after she had assimilated into the Deaf community – the community she continues to love today.

With the test results, over 50 years of guilt were washed away for my grandmother.

And after five decades of struggling with her identity, my mother can finally medically, culturally, and happily identify as Deaf. It’s in her – and my – blood, after all.

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So, I figured I’d help start 2009 with hope, and get the word out about some of the charities/nonprofit organizations that I think are just great. In no particular order, I’m keeping a close eye on five causes this year, and I hope to support each in some way. Maybe you can do the same.

Discovering Deaf Worlds: I’ve worked with Discovering Deaf Worlds (www.discoveringdeafworlds.com) the past year on their newsletter, and I have been nothing but astounded by the incredible stories from this non-profit organization. Discovering Deaf Worlds founders Dave Justice and Christy Smith have gone off – way off – the beaten path and discovered so many unexplored corners of the world. By doing so, they’re bringing about awareness not only for people like me, but also for people in those corners who have no idea of their opportunities as deaf individuals. Justice and Smith are giving us all hope for a future.

Domestic violence programs: As a childhood domestic violence survivor, I really wish programs like Abused Deaf Women Advocacy Services (www.adwas.org) and Deaf Hope (www.deaf-hope.org) existed when I was a little girl. It’s only by sheer determination that Mom and I got out of the situation we were in. Two years after we left, at the age of 10, I watched The Burning Bed starring Farrah Fawcett, sobbing because it was the first time I had ever understood  the hell we went through. The movie also made me realize, for the first time in my life, that everything that had happened wasn’t our fault and that we weren’t alone.

Even today, 25 years later, thousands of deaf women and men find themselves in dangerous situations – and not so many are as lucky as Mom and I were. We got out. And so many don’t. Domestic violence survivors – and victims – are often the most ordinary people – like me – who you’d never guess were in such situations. Even today, people gasp when they learn what my mother and I had to live with for a decade.

Support  domestic violence agencies, locally and nationally, that serve deaf people. You might just help spare a child’s life.

Global Reach Out Initiative: A young organization, Global Reach Out (GRO) is going places – figuratively and literally. As its website (www.globalreachout.org) states, GRO “seeks to serve as a launching pad for the world’s young deaf role models to work together, learn from one another, and inspire others.” GRO accomplishes this by encouraging deaf youth to come together in a delegation and address social issues limiting deaf populations’ opportunities to grow.

GRO also says, “We believe in the domino effect: if one delegate is inspired to work towards social change, many more will follow. Inspiration is contagious!” Indeed.

National Association of the Deaf:  I’ve been a long-time member – and yes, a long-time critic – of the National Association of the Deaf (www.nad.org). But it wasn’t until I served on the board for just over a year that I appreciated fully how much work is put into the NAD. As the oldest civil rights organization for deaf people in the United States, the NAD is a powerful advocacy and lobbying machine, despite what naysayers have said and will say. Give the NAD a couple of dollars. Even a buck goes a long way. Better yet, join as a member.

Rescue programs or shelters caring for deaf animals: Having had two deaf dogs, I can’t emphasize enough how crucial it is to rescue deaf animals, whether dogs, cats or others. Thousands of deaf animals are abandoned and killed each year simply because they’re deaf – and this tugs at my heart in so many ways. Their experiences, and fate, are so similar to our experiences as a deaf community. Besides, who better to understand deaf pets than deaf people?

One such program is at Deaf Animal Row (deafanimalrow.blogspot.com). Contact your local shelter or rescue program and see if they have deaf animals needing homes or support. Then share what you can, whether it’s a blanket, treats, money, or best of all, a home.

We have a new president elected on a platform of change and hope. Let’s be part of his platform and help change this world a little at a time and give  people – or animals –  hope.

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Yeah, you’d think.

Instead, I’ve been given the runaround for over a year (yup, you read that right) trying to get someone, anyone, at the university to take my money.

Since 2007, I’ve been traveling the nation on a speaking tour, sharing for the first time the documents involved with the expose I did on Holly Daniel. At each of the presentations, I announced that a portion of my earnings would be donated to Gallaudet University. Specifically, I wanted to donate it to the Deaf Studies program.

Prior to the tour, I contacted the appropriate individuals at the university. They were each very interested, and the development office asked me to fill out a donation form. Another individual and I planned a videophone meeting; that never took place because of delays on her part. After continued attempts to get this scholarship set up for over a year with almost no results, I decided that I would stop expending my energy on what seemed a fruitless endeavor.

Around the same time I made this decision, I attended the Gallaudet University Alumni Association Charter Day festivities. I happened to informally meet with a new development office representative. I expressed interest in perhaps redirecting my donation to the university’s new museum fund. She reassured me she would look into this right away. That was last April.

Today, I’m still waiting for somebody, anyone, to take my donation. I wrote a letter to Gallaudet and sent a copy to President Bob Davila’s office. To date, I have not received a response or acknowledgment.

Gallaudet University has expressed concerns both privately and publicly about its dwindling number of donations; some people have pointed to the 2006 protests as a possible cause. Based on my struggles in trying to give my money to the university, it seems to me that the cause is painfully clear: they don’t respond to actual donation offers from people they consider unimportant – like me.

Maybe they think the amount I want to donate is too small. It’s not $20,000, but it’s not $500, either. Yet beggars can’t be choosers. Take a story my friend shared. He worked for a museum in the development office, and there was a woman who donated “only” $10 each year for many years. One year, she suddenly decided to donate $25,000. The lesson here is it doesn’t matter what the amount is. Each donor must be treated equally, whether it’s $10, $1,000 or millions of dollars.

I’ve been asked why I don’t donate the money to the National Association of the Deaf (NAD). Here’s why: when I wrote the Daniel story in 1997, NAD was steadfast in its refusal to lend my story any support. I asked the organization time after time for a comment or support, but never succeeded. After the story hit the national media – it was the focus of a popular Chicago Tribune column twice, appeared in the New York Times, and had a front-page mention in Advertising Age – NAD suddenly expressed interest. Perhaps it’s because NAD didn’t want to alienate potential advertisement income. Whatever the reason, it wouldn’t be right for me to donate this specific money to them. Never mind that NAD is near and dear to my heart today.

So, I’m trying to figure out what to do with this money. Perhaps my company should set up a one-time scholarship fund so I can give away this money. Or perhaps I should simply donate it to a local deaf organization. I don’t know.

Anyone need some change?

Update (Sept. 26)
I am truly impressed. Only hours after this entry was published, I received a call from Paul Drehoff, the vice president of institutional advancement at Gallaudet University. He’s new to the university, and among his responsibilities is the oversight of the development office.  He left a sincere apology on my videomail, and I e-mailed him in response.

He replied with another apology, and we set up a time to talk on the phone today at noon. Today, he called at noon sharp, and accompanying him was the development office’s Doris Parent. After some small talk, we quickly and easily worked out the arrangements for my donation to the university’s new museum fund.

I was quite pleased with Mr. Drehoff’s sincerity and eagerness to get things done. What impressed me even more was that Mr. Drehoff didn’t try to excuse anyone’s behavior. He said what happened should have not happened, and he’s right.

There’s hope yet for the university.

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It was a question that lingered in many people’s minds, including ours. We all wondered, given that my husband is a third-generation deaf person and I second-generation, whether our new baby would be deaf or hearing. My husband and I threw out the obligatory “The important thing is our baby’s healthy” to anyone who asked. We had sent in our blood to Gallaudet’s genetics program for testing in the fourth month of my pregnancy, but knew the results would arrive after our child’s birth. Either way, it wouldn’t have made a difference for us if the baby was deaf or hearing. Even so, we couldn’t help but wonder in the back of our heads. All we could do was wait.

Meanwhile, I worked with area agencies to enact legislation a statewide early hearing detection and intervention program (EHDI), knowing it’d have an impact upon thousands of lives, including mine. I also made sure I stayed in good physical shape, and counted down the days.

The day after Eavan was born, we asked about her hearing test as mandated by the EHDI law. The nurse said unconcernedly that Eavan had tested as deaf earlier that morning, but had also been fussy so the test would be redone. My husband and I nodded, then we moved onto other topics.

Distracted by a million things, we didn’t give the test another thought until the following morning when the nurse came into our room. When asked, the nurse smiled with an enthusiastic nod, giving us a thumbs up. That threw us off momentarily – what did the thumbs up mean? After a short pause, I asked, “She’s deaf?” The nurse nodded and went to check my blood pressure. Nothing more was said, and we busied ourselves getting ready to go home.

Our own mothers and countless people had told us horror stories of how nurses were sad, uncomfortable, or even domineering in sharing hearing test results – which then affected the parents’ reactions. We were astounded – and encouraged – by the optimistic, “it’s no big deal” attitude at District One Hospital. In fact, a couple of times throughout my pregnancy, we were asked about genetic ‘defects’ in our families. Whenever we mentioned our deaf families, the nurses always said, “No, that doesn’t count as a genetic defect.” Our doctor was equally nonchalant about the hearing issue.

Of course, this is very different for hearing parents with no prior history. But think about it: what if medical folks everywhere were as laid-back and optimistic? What if they were empathetic with parents faced with the often-overwhelming news of their child testing as deaf? What if nurses and doctors didn’t rush to engulf parents with so-called solutions or doomsday predictions? Would this make a difference in how parents initially react? I think so, although I can never put myself in those parents’ shoes.

If doctors were neutral but encouraging, perhaps parents wouldn’t respond with the same amount of shock or negativity that they typically do; human nature is hard to predict. All too often, how we react to something is fueled by the amount of negativity involved, or the lack of.

Maybe my husband and I shouldn’t have been so surprised by District One Hospital’s matter-of-fact approach. After all, this is a town with a large deaf population and the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf. The hospital has had hundreds, if not thousands, of deaf patients over the years. The staff there knows being deaf isn’t a death sentence, and they were prepared in what resources to offer.

Even so, it was a relief to us to not have to deal with uninvited negativity upon learning Eavan’s hearing status. We were simply more concerned about her jaundice, whether she was pooping enough, and if she was warm enough. The hospital provided all the right resources, support and information for us – without a trace of pity or sorrow. That was exactly how we wanted our birth experience to be, especially with such a healthy baby who delights us every single day.

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Last summer, a colleague at a video relay services (VRS) provider contacted me to get names of local key contacts, because the company was looking to set up camp in the Twin Cities. Since I often use this VRS provider – let’s call it ABC VRS – I happily provided names.

Fast-forward to a few weeks ago. I read, with surprise, on an interpreter e-mail list that ABC VRS was hosting an open house. I thought perhaps I simply hadn’t heard about it, because I knew ABC VRS wouldn’t host such an event without involving deaf people. They had been working with a local deaf organization, so I figured I was just out of the loop. But after talking with board members of this deaf organization, I learned that ABC VRS had not reached out to the local deaf community at all. I e-mailed my contact at ABC VRS to ask why. The response:

This event will be strictly an interpreter recruitment event- deaf interpreters are welcome to attend to apply for jobs…

However, for such an event, where interpreters will be asking about salaries, benefits, personal information in terms of employment recruitment- we think it would be appropriate that this event stays the same, that it is for interpreters interested in working with [ABC VRS] – deaf or hearing.

Rest assured… an open invite will go out to…deaf organizations when we have our grand opening… It is our new model about having a meet/greet event for interpreters being separated from an opening event after getting comments from interpreters afraid to ask personal questions during opening events and it seem to work better in interpreter recruitment. It is not a deaf/hearing issue, but rather an employment recruitment effort.

Okaaaaay. While I understand the ‘recruitment’ concept, this exclusion is a slap in local deaf people’s faces. For any new call center, it’s critical to first drum up support from the very core of the VRS industry: deaf people themselves.

A few years ago, another VRS provider, XYZ VRS, came into town and established a call center. The interpreter shortage was severe at the time, and many were caught off-guard by XYZ VRS swooping in and snatching up the few interpreters left. The provider insisted that local interpreters asked the company to come to the Twin Cities. Yet, in a newspaper article, the center manager said that the VRS company had “wooed” local interpreters into establishing the call center. Either way, many locals were unhappy.

The affiliation with the XYZ VRS center got so bad that at a workshop I attended, a participant introduced herself saying, “In addition to being a freelance interpreter, I confess I also work for XYZ VRS.” I was taken aback; had it really gotten that bad – to the point where interpreters were ashamed to admit they worked for this particular company?

This backlash is easily understood, though: you cannot establish a service or company primarily for deaf consumers without involving them. Any company knows that to reach its target market, consumers are to be surveyed, pursued, and included. Interpreters are not the consumers nor the target market when it comes to VRS; deaf people are. We are the ones who utilize the service, relying upon it for everything from personal to professional matters, even life-or-death matters. For interpreters, VRS is an employment option. Deaf people and interpreters are valuable allies with very different goals and needs when it comes to VRS. Besides, without deaf people, there would be no need for VRS.

What ABC VRS and XYZ VRS should have done was involve deaf people at every level – especially locals. Furthermore, any interpreter uncomfortable asking questions in front of the company’s consumers shouldn’t be asking them at an open house; this should be saved for the actual hiring process. Transparency is key, especially with federally funded programs like VRS.

Any event, activity, or venture involving a very specific aspect of a community must involve the community’s core members, regardless of circumstances. It’s not an either-or issue. Involve local deaf people and interpreters when trying to establish a new call center in a particular location.

ABC VRS has shot itself in the foot by not drumming up support among deaf people, even if it’s managed to recruit some of the best interpreters in the state. This has left a bad taste in local deaf people’s mouths – the few who actually know about ABC’s plans, that is. Most of the local deaf people are still in the dark about ABC VRS coming to town, because ABC VRS hasn’t really involved them.

VRS companies must stop biting the hand that feeds them – especially when this hand belongs to the local deaf community.

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In 1997, an article published in DeafNation Newspaper examined staff numbers at 21 residential schools in the U.S. Only three schools reported having more than 40 percent of staff – including all levels of employees, such as maintenance, administrators, dorm staff and teachers – who were deaf or hard of hearing, Ten years later, at least five schools report having broken the 50 percent mark (click here to see chart).

The residential school has long played a pivotal role in the Deaf community, given its strong, deep roots in Deaf education history. With the 1817 establishment of American School for the Deaf, in Hartford, Conn., residential schools have since served as a social, educational and language source for many. In fact, it is often at such schools that deaf people are given language and meet deaf role models for the first time in their lives.

Effects of Deaf Staff
In the 1997 article, Brian Sipek, then a junior at the Illinois School for the Deaf, said, “The [hearing] staff are usually not familiar with what the student needs, being a deaf person. There are some hearing teachers, I admit, that try to be very helpful to deaf students, but it’s not the same coming from them, since they were never raised as a deaf person. They’re just not as familiar with being deaf as we are.”

Are students and communities better served through a large number of deaf employees at deaf schools? “Without question, a diverse faculty and staff impact positively on students’ motivation to achieve academically and to set their sights high,” says Texas School for the Deaf (TSD) superintendent Claire Bugen, who is hearing. “Deaf role models are part of the fabric of our educational environment.”

The positive effects of having deaf staff at residential schools are unquestionable, but most schools continue to have more hearing employees than deaf. Sipek feels this should be changed. “I still believe that there is a shortage of deaf and hard of hearing role models for these young students at the residential schools. Being a minority, deaf and hard of hearing children need role models, someone who views the world in the same way that they do, to look up to and be inspired by. “

Indiana School for the Deaf (ISD) superintendent Dr. David Geeslin, who is deaf, believes having deaf people on staff is a reason for ISD’s enrollment rising dramatically to 377 students within a few years. “Obviously, with deaf staff, we have a greater number of deaf role models for students, and this also leads to increased exposure to bilingualism for the students,” he says. “Deaf people can share knowledge that no college education can provide.”

Language is another benefit to having deaf staff, says Alex Slappey, Wisconsin School for the Deaf (WSD) superintendent. “Language is learned through the interchange of the language, and the richer and more diverse the language models available, the richer and more diverse the language foundation will be. It’s essential that students at WSD, an American Sign Language/English bilingual program, have the language models that both peers and adults provide. It is equally important that we have hearing staff because we are a bilingual program and provide the cultural and language models our students require to develop English language skills and an understanding of the hearing culture.”

Dr. Geeslin adds, “Even so, it’s critical that we maintain a bicultural environment where hearing staff are also equally respected and revered, especially if they’re fluent in both American Sign Language (ASL) and English and have the right attitude.”

Obstacles
Among the several reasons cited in the 1997 articles for having such low percentages of deaf staff were widening career choices for deaf professionals, hiring systems, pay levels, and certification procedures. These appear to continue to be challenges today.

“There are so many more professional employment opportunities today for people who are deaf and many more pre-service training and educational opportunities than there used to be. All of this is great, but it means that many capable individuals are seeking and finding challenging employment outside of the education arena,” says Joseph Finnegan, director of Conference of Educational Administrators of Schools and Programs for the Deaf (CEASD). “Also, I think that many individuals don’t see educational administrative employment as very attractive these days, especially with long hours, low pay and many headaches.” CESAD, established in 1868, provides accreditation for deaf schools, and advocacy and program services.

“The state hiring process may inadvertently discriminate against qualified deaf and hard of hearing candidates. This is less true for direct contact staff in Wisconsin, such as teachers, assistants, and dorm staff. We were successful in changing requirements for that in the early 1990s. However, it continues to be true for non-contact staff such as building/grounds and food services staff,” Slappey theorizes. “Bureaucratic certification systems are also impediments to hearing, deaf, or hard of hearing candidates, and can be rather discouraging.”

“I think there are both positives and negatives that contribute to this dilemma of a lack of deaf staff. Clearly, deaf people have many more career choices today than in the past, and with changing technology I suspect that will only continue to be a factor – that’s a good thing,” Bugen adds. “Salaries in education, on the other hand, have not kept pace with the private sector and many young people both want and need to be paid better than most educators are paid. Now with the requirements of highly qualified teaching under various laws, our already shrinking pool of qualified deaf and hearing candidates is compromised even further, which will likely cause more challenges in the years ahead.”

Dr. Geeslin is less forgiving. “Even though circumstances for gaining certification have become much stringent, the harsh truth is that we have to roll up our sleeves, whether we’re deaf or hearing or whatever our languages are, and work as much as we can to meet requirements. There’s no way around it at this point. We have to actually try and do what we can to earn our credentials, because we can. After all, we are to serve as models for students. It is time to raise the bar for ourselves and our students.”

Deaf Administrators
Currently, there are at least 14 deaf or hard of hearing superintendents in the nation, a number that fluctuates with time. “I foresee a need for more deaf administrators at deaf schools, but I think the pool of qualified candidates is smaller than it could be,” Slappey says. “Finding good administrators, whether hearing or deaf, is a problem. States are now more aware of and sensitive to the value a good deaf administrator brings to a program.”

Finnegan, a former superintendent, notes that graduate-level or professional-level training for deaf people were nonexistent for years, especially after the closure of the Leadership Training Program at California State University, Northridge, but that this is changing with the establishment of the Gallaudet Leadership Institute (GLI).

Training may be key, Bugen agrees, who also cites GLI. “Given the growing scarcity of young deaf or hearing professionals interested in education, we have to groom and grow our future leaders from within. We have to find ways to give our talented young deaf people opportunities to take on leadership roles and then encourage them to get the proper certification and training to assume administrative positions.”

“I think another challenge is that so many deaf administrators try to buck the system head-on instead of working within the system,” Dr. Geeslin states. “What helps me in my current position greatly are my years in outreach. I was out in the field, and I saw how hearing parents often didn’t care about Deaf culture. They simply wanted to find the best options for their children in acquiring spoken and/or written English. I had to come up with different ways of sharing the idea of using ASL to acquire English, and that really helped me understand the reality of working within the system in order to buck it. It’s all about mediating between the two worlds.”

New Challenges
What makes the enrollment boom that some residential schools are experiencing even more remarkable is that a Dec. 4 article in Education Week reported that only 15 percent of 72,000 K-12 deaf students attend deaf schools, down from 33 percent in 1985.

“I think there are two important elements that contribute to this success. The first is a community with a critical mass of Deaf people and a school that offers a high quality educational program. We find an increasingly large number of Deaf families moving to the Austin area so that their children can attend TSD,” Bugen says. “When this happens it not only keeps our enrollment strong, but it brings more Deaf families into the larger business and social community of Austin. Second, I believe the school must be ‘Deaf friendly’ and involve Deaf people in all aspects of the school’s operations so that Deaf people feel respected, valued and empowered.”

Serving a specific niche is another significant boost, Slappey says. “The landscape of deaf education has been changing and continues to change. Deaf schools, especially residential schools, need to decide where their focus is going to be in terms of who they will serve and how they will serve their students. WSD considers itself a niche school that serves children who require a visual language, ASL, to access education. This doesn’t mean we don’t serve the more hard of hearing child who uses English, but we do not sacrifice the needs of the ASL child to meet the needs of the English child. Deaf schools need to show how their uniqueness may make them a better placement option. To a large degree, this is an education and public relations issue. We must educate as to the unique needs, especially the communication and social emotional needs, of our deaf children.”

Even so, schools are struggling with an emergent problem: students with additional disabilities, such as autism or attention deficit disorder. According to Education Weekly, a 2005 survey indicated that 42 percent of 37,000 deaf students reported having additional disabilities. Dr. Geeslin, noting that 52 percent of ISD’s students have other disabilities, says that the lack of deaf teachers specializing in special education is a dilemma. “Now with the proliferation of students with additional needs, it’s even more crucial that deaf teachers pursue certification and experience in working with those students. The students are the ones who need the best language and cultural role models. And who knows? With earlier intervention and clear language models, it may be that those students make greater progress in acquiring both languages improving academic performance.”

Citing changes in federal and state statutes, Slappey says, “It is not a trend limited to teachers of the deaf, but part of the overall trend. To realize a true change in the supply, the teaching profession needs to be made more attractive as a career choice. Such things as better compensation, better working conditions, less bureaucracy, and less paperwork would go a long way to that extent. It’s a huge order to attempt to implement.”

‘Grow Our Own’
Despite the hurdles, Dr. Geeslin believes he has the solution to ensuring stronger roots and equality at deaf schools.

“15 years ago, I went to the National Association for the Deaf conference and ran into a friend, Lindsay Dunn. Given that I’ve always tried to look at things from outside of the box even as a teacher, I had been thinking about the lack of diversity at ISD. So I asked Lindsay how we could bring more African-Americans to the school. He said, ‘I have the answer. First, what did you do to recruit them?’ I told him that we had asked many people, but none ever applied. He then asked if we had a strong black deaf community, and I said we did not. He asked if we had any black deaf teachers. I again said we did not. He said, ‘There you have it. You have to grow your own first.’”

Profoundly affected by this revelation, Dr. Geeslin’s outlook changed. “Thanks to Lindsay, I have tried to ensure that we grow our own by encouraging staff, students and parents to invest in the community, and making sure that they understand they are investments themselves, too. We have to do this to create a community to which people of all types want to return and continue the work previous generations did. This is one reason ISD has grown so much in such a short time – because we grow our own.”

The fact that more schools have broken the 50 percent mark comes as good news to Sipek, who graduated Gallaudet University in 2004 and now works at the university. “I’m thrilled to know that there are more role models for deaf and hard of hearing children at residential schools. This closes a much-needed gap, but like most things, there is always room for more. I think this increase in staff numbers has been a long time coming.”

My thoughts:

This article first came about in 1997 when Brian Sipek asked me to see how many schools had deaf people employed at deaf schools. I agreed, and set out to collect the data. I was surprised at the amount of resistance from schools in giving me the statistics I asked for – something that was also true this time around. But I was even more surprised at the staggeringly low numbers – and how defensive some schools were about the numbers even though I hadn’t said a word. My questions were simple: 1. How many students attend your school? 2. How many people do you employ? 3. How many of those staff members are deaf or hard of hearing?

Those who did not try to justify their low percentages were the ones who had outstanding attitudes, were upfront about this being a concern, and worked hard to change the numbers.

I am beyond thrilled to see how the numbers have grown since 1997, even if only a few have broken the 50 percent barrier. I should also point out that the numbers of deaf and hard of hearing teachers and dorm staff at many schools are quite high, and that the low numbers usually stemmed from cafeteria workers, maintenance, and administration. This is in no way an excuse; we should have deaf employees in each of these categories, too.

As Sipek commented, we still have a long way to go. Regardless of changing needs and times, we must continue to promote the increased hiring of qualified deaf people in key positions at every level. After all, paraphrasing Lindsay Dunn, it’s the only way we can grow our own.

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