We’ve all seen promotional materials distributed by any given university. They display pictures of smiling, carefree students wearing sweatshirts or t-shirts imprinted with the university’s name. Brochures and booklets slickly detail how great the university is, how it has superb academic and extracurricular programs along with a cozy and supportive residential life, blah, blah, blah. Lest you think I’m immune to such public relations charm, I’m profiled in a current Gallaudet University booklet.

But Gallaudet, an eight-minute film, is something else, all right. Despite a few glaring typos in the onscreen text, Gallaudet is so stunningly profound in so many ways. Each time I watched it (six times), I found new meaning and inspiration. Gallaudet provides wonderfully reflective messages while successfully highlighting what makes Gallaudet University so great. Alumni will nod in understanding, connectedness and pride as they watch the story unfold. People who haven’t attended Gallaudet will also nod in understanding at the film’s underlying implications.

Gallaudet has everything – diversity, inspiration, suspense, hidden meanings, and elegant cinematography. The film also has an amazingly clear point: that Gallaudet is an extraordinary place to be not because it’s “for deaf people,” but because it offers so much more. The university offers the human experience an opportunity to thrive, and Gallaudet captures that significance perfectly.

Check the film out at http://www.facundoelement.com/gallaudet.

I had to quickly backtrack and explain that my mistaken notion was based primarily on her company name. I also reminded her to be careful about misleading people, even if unintentionally, into believing she was deaf when in reality she was hearing and could hardly sign. Even today, this company has a lackluster reputation among many Deaf people because the owner doesn’t respect the culture and language.

Sure, a person has the right to call his/her company anything, but with the use of a cultural group’s name comes responsibility in being transparent about cultural and language affiliations. And of course, simply because someone is Deaf doesn’t mean she or he is qualified to work with the Deaf community. But my focus here is on people who are hearing yet use “Deaf” in their for-profit business names.

Several friends compared hearing people’s use of “Deaf” in company names to how some white people regularly wear Native American clothing or jewelry without really having the appropriate connections to do so. This is an excellent example; there are many white people who claim to be of Native American lineage (it’s always Cherokee, isn’t it?) and go to great lengths to try and be as embedded in the Native American culture and community as much as possible without authentication. Imagine if I established a company called “Somali Mortgages.” I think most people would understandably assume I was Somali and part of the Somali community if I didn’t make that clear otherwise. So why would I dare to do such a thing? The answer is obvious. I see a market, I think I can make money off it, and so I target it. This isn’t necessarily ethical even if it’s perfectly legal, yet this happens all the time in the Deaf community.

When I see hearing-run companies with “Deaf” in their names, I always wonder, “What’s in it for them? Do they really support the Deaf community? Are their employees mostly Deaf? Does the money they make go back into the Deaf community at all?” Perhaps I’m being ridiculously territorial and suspicious, but this is how I automatically react. I think anyone who is part of a minority group typically will have this response when a group’s identity is minimized, disregarded or even exploited.

One could even argue that if a company sells products or services for Deaf people, this qualifies the inclusion of “Deaf” in the name. I still don’t think that’s the best idea. Why not simply name the company something else and then mention “Deaf” in the slogan or service listing? Don’t get me wrong – I’m all for companies that have “Deaf” in the name as long as they’re genuinely Deaf-run, such as DeafVision, a terrific company. But there needs to be some level of validity, too.

Besides, to narrowly define a company in this way is not always the best business practice. As a Deaf company owner, I deliberately stayed away from using “Deaf” in my company name because I didn’t want to alienate people who could hear or didn’t identify as being Deaf. And it’s paid off; a good number of my customers are not deaf. This has expanded my potential market that much more, and has helped break down misconceptions about deaf people.

On that note, take a look at the names of some successful Deaf-owned businesses: Harris Communications, DawnSignPress, Schwarz Financial Services (which also runs DeafTax.com), Kramer Financial Services, Rawland Cycles, Alternative Solutions Center, and DM Multimedia. Notice something in common? Yeah, none of them have “Deaf” in the company name.

The bottom line for me is transparency. Just like any company – Deaf-run or not – I always like to know who the owner is, the owner’s background, and what the company’s practices and philosophy are. On top of that, I want to ensure that the company is respectful of people’s cultures, languages and values. This type of transparency and authenticity is what makes me feel comfortable and proud to do business with a company.

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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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In the changing face of higher education, a student body composed mainly of new high school graduates is being replaced by students of all ages and experiences.

Stepping onto a new campus with hundreds – or even thousands – of other students is frequently a daunting experience for students attending their first day of college. When different ages are added to the mix, their apprehension may increase: Can they relate to a student body made up of younger or older students who may be light years apart in interests and life experience? Will they be accepted or find themselves in isolation on the fringe of the campus social scene?

Fortunately, these first-day jitters are becoming a thing of the past. “Non-traditional students,” as they are often called, are growing in numbers; in fact, they are steadily becoming part of the norm for the student body at colleges and universities.

Although the average age of a college student is 18 to 25, the number of students over age 25 has skyrocketed at colleges and universities everywhere. According to Back to College, an online resource for adults returning to college, 28 percent of all college students were 25 years old or older in 1970; in 1998, this increased to 41 percent. The National Center for Education Statistics states that students 35 years or older soared from 823,000 in 1970 to an estimated 2.9 million in 2001 – an increase of 19.2 percent. Current estimates put the number of students who are over 25 at 47 percent of the college student population.

An early start
Very little research exists on college students who are younger than 17 years old, but one study by the University of Washington found that young students – specifically, those between the ages of 12 and 14 – “don’t fit the stereotype of unhappy ‘nerds’ who are humorless, isolated misfits,” but rather, “extremely versatile, interested, interesting, and sociable.”

Tom Holcomb, ‘80, a professor in the Interpreter Preparation Program, Center for Deaf Studies and Special Services at Ohlone College in California, came to Gallaudet at the age of 16. “Although I had family nearby, which was a huge help, I often felt left out and almost disconnected from the other students,” he said. “But in retrospect, I realize it was mostly a self-inflicted perception.” He also noted that there was more attention given to four of his fellow freshmen – who were all female and all 16 years old. “Most of the campus community was focused on them instead of me, which I consider a blessing in disguise because I was able to blend into the scene a bit more than they could.”

David Kurs, ‘98, a filmmaker and scriptwriter in Hollywood, Calif., also enrolled at the age of 16. Like others who were younger than the typical freshman, Kurs did not want to call attention to his age. “I tried to make my age a secret upon arriving on campus – and failed miserably,” he said. “The kids I had gone to camp with knew how old I was and told everyone else. As is probably the norm, I never made an issue out of my age, but everyone else did.” There were advantages to being young, though, he said with a chuckle. “I loved that because I was younger than the others, everyone thought I was a genius. Rumors spread about my photographic memory, that I had received a job offer from NASA, and that I had memorized the dictionary – none of which were true. Instead of denying these queries, I would just smile, vaguely affirming the truth of these rumors.”

Both Holcomb and Kurs credit extracurricular activities such as sports and student government with helping them fit in. Holcomb added that when he joined a fraternity, he “finally felt accepted, even though I realize I was accepted all along. It was simply a confirmation for me that I really did belong there.” Kurs said, “I was probably more suspectible to influences. I think the only difference, if any, between myself and the other students was that I sought ut role models with more effort. I was more eager to participate in the rituals and traditions of the freshman class, probably because I didn’t bother to question the point of these activities. I wanted to be able to say that I took part in everything.”

Timothy Jaech, ‘61, a retired school administrator, stepped on campus in 1957 when he was 15 years old. Although he had an older sister who kept an eye on him, he had his share of humbling experiences, particularly one evening as a freshman watching a lively discussion in the Men’s Reading Room of College Hall. “I loved those bull sessions, and it was fascinating to watch the upperclassmen match wits. After watching much intellectual ‘bull’ going back and forth, I raised my hand to toss in my two cents’ worth,” he chuckles. “One of the upperclassmen looked at me and remarked, ‘What does a little kid like you think you can add to this discussion?’ Miffed, I shot back, ‘I’m not a kid! I’m 15 1/2 years old!’ I think the whole room broke out laughing, and I was sorry the minute I said it.”

Other notable young alumni include Astrid (Amann) Goodstein, ‘65, and her husband, Board of Trustees member Harvey Goodstein, ‘65, both of whom retired from Gallaudet after long and distinguished careers and reside in Scottsdale, Ariz. They both began their years at Gallaudet as 16-year-old preparatory students. It is interesting to note that Harvey’s sister, Roslyn Rosen, ‘62, and Astrid’s brother, Franklyn Amann, ‘64, also attended at a young age. Astrid, who graduated from the California School for the Deaf in Berkeley (CSD), said, “I was probably more or less a prima donna at CSD. Upon arrival at Gallaudet, I wasn’t used to competition in and outside of class, so I felt humbled and even insecure. Besides, there were no summer programs like Youth Leadership Camp or Junior NAD back then, so leadership skills in those days were developed by trial and error. Even so, I’m forever grateful for my unique, non-stop and holistic education at Gallaudet.”

The Goodsteins noted that they would probably have different experiences if they were students at modern-day Gallaudet. “Back then, the campus was so small that everyone knew everyone,” Astrid explained. “We were really like a family, and people were always watching out for and supporting us. We also had a curfew and study halls. I don’t know how I’d handle it today, in such a different culture and world,” she said, adding that the university has organizations and programs implemented to support student success.

Never too late
On the opposite end of the spectrum are students who decide to either start or return to college after their adult lives are well underway. A commonly cited reason for enrolling at college at this stage of life is to improve employability. This was the case for Catherine Garbacz, ‘97, of Sacramento, Calif. A single mother of two daughters, Garbacz was laid off from her job in 1993 and decided to complete her college degree at age 43 by coming to Gallaudet. An active member and president of the Never Too Late Club, Garbacz found her experiences as an older student double-majoring in government and English to be unique.

“The biggest challenge for me was competing with younger minds, and sharing a room with kids who did not have the life experiences that I had already attained,” she remembers. “But I dealt with it by receiving support from other older students, especially the Never Too Late Club, and becoming a resident assistant.” To stay informed about campus life issues, she became even more active with organizations such as the Student Body Government.

Tom Benziger, ‘94, of Woodridge, Ill., originally attended Gallaudet in the 1960s, but left before completing his degree. Benziger was working as a deaf services advocate at Access Living in Chicago, Ill., an independent living center, supervising several staff members who held master’s degrees. Some of them felt Benziger, despite his experience, should have at least a bachelor’s degree.

After many hours of discussion with his wife, Benziger made the decision to return to Gallaudet. “It wasn’t easy, because I knew I’d have to maintain a long-distance relationship with my wife,” he explained. “You have to remember that in the early 1990s, we only had the TTY for live conversation, and that was cumbersome. It was harder than anything I’ve ever had to do,” he said, adding that it was well worth it. The Never Too Late Club, he said, gave him unparalleled support when he missed his family.

On campus, Benziger quickly became a strong advocate for non-traditional students, but sometimes found it awkward when his teachers were younger than him, not to mention the realization that his classmates were the children of people he had attended Gallaudet with in the 1960s. “As a government major, it was always strange being in classes with students who had no idea of how real-life advocacy or governmental matters worked,” he recalled. “They also complained about so much, even though they had access to computers and other modern-day technology. Back in the 1960s, I had to do everything by hand or on a typewriter.” Even so, Benziger found the experience enriching. “I learned a lot from my classmates, regardless of age, and from professors such as the incomparable Dr. Mary Malzkuhn, a wonderful teacher.”

Both Garbacz and Benziger agree that their personal sacrifices have paid off. Benziger was promoted as soon as he returned to Access Living; Garbacz attended graduate school at Gallaudet and San Diego State University, and is now a rehabilitation counselor for deaf, hard of hearing and deaf-blind individuals with the California Department of Rehabilitation.

Until recently, the majority of non-traditional students did not have services catering to their unique needs. Benziger recalls how difficult circumstances could be for older students living off-campus: “There was a fellow student in her 70s, and she lived off-campus. She often had no place to go in between classes, so she had to wait hours and hours wandering the campus. It was physically difficult for her to lug around so many textbooks.” Benziger provided the use of his dorm room so that she could have a place to go in between classes.

Today, Gallaudet offers many other services to accommodate its changing student body, including non-traditional students who live on campus. The Commuter Lounge, where lockers and computers are available, is one example; it serves as an ideal place for them to stay between classes.

Identifying needs
The Hobson electronic communication system, used by over 1,000 colleges and universities – including Gallaudet – tracks student participation and ensures that students don’t fall through cracks. It has given invaluable insights in meeting students’ needs, said Associate Provost for Enrollment Catherine Andersen. Hobson has provided useful information for non-traditional students regardless of age, Andersen said; the university can send out communications tailored to students who are in specific age brackets, have children, or possess other unique characteristics. Additionally, incoming freshmen are required to take a first-year course as part of the general studies requirement, which assists in determining areas of interest for study, first-year concerns and challenges, and more. “When we did a research study of persistence, we found that those who took this course had a 11 percent higher persistent rate into the second year,” Andersen said.

Retain is another web-based system that helps Gallaudet communicate with current students in ways that encourage them to stay focused on their academic pursuits. “We can connect them to areas of interest, or communicate with them in areas of concern,” said Andersen. “Faculty can report attendance patterns, and coaches can interact with faculty and students so that everyone is supporting the persistence of students.”

In all, the Gallaudet experience provides to be unique for each student, regardless of age. “I don’t look back and evaluate whether entering Gallaudet at such a young age was a mistake,” Kurs said. “My development adjusted around that event. It made the way I am. Looking back, I had the opportunity to take the time to develop personally and professionally after graduation a bit longer than others did. For the first time in my life, I had the luxury of time – I traveled a lot, and hopped from job to job.”

He added, “I think that all of us who entered Gallaudet at earlier ages realize that there are no absolute rules. We can adapt to the situation, or not. We all have it in us to prosper on campus at any age.”

The author: Trudy Suggs, ‘95, owns T.S. Writing Services and came to Gallaudet as a 16-year-old freshman.

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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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