ON HAND: Where are the deaf schools?

June 3, 2003

This originally appeared in The Tactile Mind Weekly in Trudy’s ON HAND column.

I was a judge in the 2002 contest of WORLD AROUND YOU’s national essay contest, and was somewhat taken aback by the contents of the entries.

The majority of the essays were from students in “hearing” schools; very few came from residential schools. When I asked a friend who works at a deaf school why his school hadn’t submitted entries, he said, “The English teacher here didn’t feel it was worth the time.” Almost all of the other friends I asked at other deaf schools echoed the English teacher’s sentiments. That pissed me off, especially because the teachers were deciding for the students.

The other eye-opening detail was the common theme: I’m not different; I’m just like any other hearing kid; I can speak and lipread well. Most of them described years of struggle with speech therapy, acceptance, academic accessibility, and how they wished their families understood (although many of them credited parents for their success). Almost none described using ASL, or pride in being deaf–rather, they were more focused upon being “like hearing people.”

As I read these essays, I was quickly reminded of my mainstreamed years. I had the support of Deaf parents; I went to programs that had large numbers of deaf students; and I had Deaf role models from day one. But I also wanted to be hearing. Desperately. It was only when I went to a summer program at Gallaudet that coincided with Deaf Way 1989 that I realized my identity.

I hope this year’s contest brings in more entries from students at residential schools. I’d bet my life savings that the essays would be dramatically different in attitude. I also hope deaf students are truly happy with who they are–mainstreamed or not. They’re our future, after all.

I’m just grateful I found my identity so early on.

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Filed Under: Childhood, Community resources, Culture, Deaf education, Gallaudet

Editorial: Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide

January 1, 2002

Originally appeared in Silent News, January 2002.

Well, deaf schools are taking yet more blows from the press. I’ve been following the series published in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer about sexual abuse at residential schools for the deaf nationally. Some of them I read in depth; others I skimmed through. I think a lot of them were over-kill – repeating the same points over and over.

Yet, I can’t help but marvel at how adept school superintendents are at sweeping issues under the rug. I understand why they do this: they don’t want bad publicity for what, usually, is otherwise a good and well-run school; they don’t want parents worrying about their kids; and so on.

You know what? Too bad for the superintendents. Parents must worry about their kids. Here’s what happens when they don’t: recently a friend of mine who works as a houseparent at a deaf school told me about how he took one of the students home for Thanksgiving. The friend, “Jeff,” said that the student had nobody come to pick him up for the holidays, and since the school was closed, Jeff took him home.

I applaud Jeff for stepping in and fulfilling an important role in the student: one of a caring person. Yet, the risks Jeff took in taking the student home were high. The student could’ve easily accused Jeff of molestation, abuse, or a number of any other violations. Even so, the more important question is: where was the student’s family? Where were his guardians? This is why deaf schools often play an important role in the development of deaf children’s lives. And this is why superintendents cannot fool themselves into believing incidents, even minor ones, are not of grave concern.

A few weeks ago, there was an incident at a large and well-attended deaf school where a junior high student brought a loaded gun to school. Media coverage of this incident was sparse; only a local TV station picked it up. I assigned a writer to report on this incident after four separate individuals tipped me off to it. The writer had difficulty getting any information on the situation, and the superintendent’s office did not call the writer back. However, the superintendent did have one of my sources (a teacher at the school) contact me to ask me not to print the story because it would generate negative publicity and that parents would be upset. I also got the impression that the teacher’s job was at stake.

Rather than simply saying that the school was not at liberty to discuss the alleged incident, the superintendent chose to cower behind methods of intimidation and use other people to ask us not to print the story.

While the incident is more complicated than what I write here, my knee-jerk reaction was to say to the superintendent, “Too bad!” I am a strong supporter of residential schools for deaf students. Yet, I will never support the hiding of information about gross violations of other people’s safety, especially in schools. I also will not support the concealment of information for the sake of “positive publicity.”

Just because an incident took place at a residential school does not mean it is limited to that school. When I was in high school – a public school with 1,800 students, 80 deaf – a student brought a handgun to school. It was a few hours before someone tipped off a teacher and the boy got a few days of out-of-school suspension (this took place many years before the Columbine shootings). Oh, yeah, the kid was deaf. Does this mean that deaf programs at hearing high schools should be blamed for everything? Of course not.

What about all the shootings at hearing schools across the nation? Columbine, for one. Does this mean hearing schools must be blamed for the shootings? No.

How about the long history of sexual molestation, harassment, and rape at hearing schools across the nation? By coincidence – as I was thinking about this topic – I happened to stumble across a based-on-a-true-story movie today on the Lifetime Channel with Michael Gross playing Dr. Gordon Powell, a school principal who had a history of molesting female troubled students. Does this mean the problem is rampant at hearing schools and they must all be closed down?

Of course not. Problems are rampant in every situation, and certainly the strong presence of these problems at schools – residential or public – must be investigated and stopped immediately. It might seem much more dramatic in deaf communities across the nation because of the close-knit nature and because of the “recognition factor” – everyone knows everyone. But it doesn’t mean deaf people, schools, or organizations should be held to any different standards, whether better or worse standards, from those that exist for hearing schools. The problems are real. Yet, they shouldn’t be cause for closure of schools, as some anti-residential school advocates have been proclaiming for years.

The bottom line is that parents and students have the right to know of every incident at school that endangers them or their friends. Superintendents and school officials cannot ever use intimidation or threaten lawsuits to protect their own reputations. Chances are, the information will come out anyway, and their reputation will be even worse for being dishonest.

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Filed Under: Childhood, Deaf education, Parenting, Politics, Silent News

Lexington’s Cohen to retire after 35 years

December 1, 2000

Orginally appeared in Silent News, December 2000.

Dr. Oscar P. Cohen, Superintendent and Chief Executive Officer of the Lexington School for the Deaf/Center for the Deaf, announced his retirement effective at the end of the 2000-2001 academic year.

“This year marks Lexington’s 135th year of serving the deaf community. It is also my 35th year at Lexington,” Cohen said. “Reflection has allowed me to recognize that now is the time for me to bring the same commitment I have had for Lexington to some of the other causes and interests in which I have been involved for years but have not been able to give my full attention.”

Cohen, whose father attended Lexington, graduated from Hunter College with a bachelor’s degree in education and a master’s degree in teaching the deaf from Columbia University’s Teachers College. He also earned a doctorate in administration from Columbia.

Cohen began working at Lexington as a science teacher, and served in several capacities, including director of the residence programs and principal.

Lexington has served many purposes in his life, Cohen said. “Lexington has been important to me in my professional and personal life. In fact, when Lexington moved to the current campus, I lived with my wife and children in an apartment in the residence hall.”

Cohen was asked to assume the superintendent/CEO position in 1996 by Lexington’s board of directors. During his tenure, Cohen brought many changes to Lexington. He said, “I am most proud that Lexington has played a role in bringing about higher expectations for deaf persons through raising standards and confidence that all deaf persons can learn and can excel in ways perhaps we did not think possible.”

One of the notable achievements of recent is Lexington’s release of results from a study using the Mediated Learning Experience model. “This is a system that empowers teachers and parents to become more effective ‘mediators’ in children developing critical thinking skills.” Results show that students using this approach have significantly increased literacy and writing skills.

Another achievement Cohen is proud of is the emerging multiculturalism and diversity at Lexington. “We have been sensitive to different factions and perspectives in moving Lexington from an oral/aural only school to one that embraces the value and richness of sign language as a language and an essential means of communication,” he said. “We have also moved from a predominantly ‘non-cultural’ to cultural model of deafness. For example, Lexington’s board has 10 out of 24 trustees who are deaf. When I first arrived at Lexington, there were none.” Racial diversity also has increased both at the administrative and academic levels.

Philip W. Bravin, president of the Board of Trustees at Lexington, said, “Cohen has made Lexington a special place for all students, parents, clients, and staff during his 35 years of service. He has transformed the school into a model urban center of education and service. We wish him continued success and will miss his leadership and innovation.”

Cohen has served in a variety of leadership positions, including president of the Conference of Educational Administrators of Schools and Programs for the Deaf (CEASD) from 1994 to 1996, and currently serves as chair of the New York State 4201 Schools Association. He has three grown children, including one who wrote the acclaimed book, Train Go Sorry, and eight grandchildren.

The Lexington Board of Trustees is currently establishing a search process for a successor by the summer of 2001.

“As I explore new opportunities, Lexington will always represent a significant influence in my life,” Cohen said. “I will leave Lexington at the end of this academic year with the knowledge that I have been part of a community made of people, staff, students, and families full of unparalleled energy. Together we have made Lexington a special place.”

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Filed Under: Deaf education, Notable People, Silent News

A Deaf Educator Retires: Victor Galloway

March 1, 1999

Originally appeared in DeafNation Newspaper, March 1999. The interview for this article was conducted via e-mail.

vicgalloway“Let me tell you this…retirement is but a phase in your career! I am just turning over a new leaf in the story of my life,” says Victor Galloway.

Galloway certainly has had many leaves in his tree of life, retiring at the age of 70 1/2 from a career that has spanned many years and many experiences.

Born in Atlanta, Ga., in 1928, he remembers, “I have very little recollection of my early years and the very first I can remember of my ‘being’ was in Clio, South Carolina, population 500. I grew up with Big Mama, who I later learned when I was about nine years old was really my grandmother.”

Galloway’s deafness was not identified until he was two and a half years old, when a local physician realized that Galloway’s “slowness” was not due to mental retardation, but to hearing loss.

“When I turned six years old, Big Mama packed a steamer trunk with all my clothes and personal stuff, which were then loaded into my uncle’s vehicle,” Galloway says. “I could not figure out what was going on. Big Mama tried to tell me that I was going to get shoes. On we went through towns and villages, and each time we passed stores that looked like they sold shoes, I kept pointing at themand beseeching them to stop and back up.”

He later realized that Big Mama was actually trying to tell him that they were going to school. “Such was the vagaries of lipreading,” exclaims Galloway.

He enrolled at the South Carolina School for the Deaf and the Blind, and continued there for the next 13 years. Galloway, with other students at SCSDB, learned sign language even though the school had strict policies in favor of oralism.

When he arrived at high school level—in these days, deaf schools ended at the eighth grade—Gallaudet entrance examinations were administered, but he could not take them because he was only 15 years old. Officials decided that because they would be unable to challenge Galloway academically, he would best benefit from a public school education. “This proved to be the best thing that ever happened to me!” Galloway says.

“I got to play basketball and football with the big guys. I was on varsity basketball and football teams. One of the linemen on the football team learned enough sign language to give me the signals in he huddles. This team was equivalent to the 5-A teams in Texas. My egotism knew no boundaries, but hey, in such a rarefied atmosphere, I had every reason to crow.”

Galloway was mainstreamed without interpreting services, tutoring or notetakers. “Mainstreaming was not yet a word, and Public Law 94-142 would not be enacted for approximately 30 years,” Galloway explains.

“I did not know such services existed so I really never felt deprived or oppressed. I happened to be a serious student, so I made the Beta Club—which became the National Honor Society a decade or so later.”

After attending Gallaudet College, Galloway was a high explosives research chemist at the U.S. Naval Ordnance Laboratory in Maryland. He then worked in Atlanta as a process control engineer at Lockheed Aircraft Corporation, which transferred him to Sunnyvale, Calif. After 12 years with Lockheed working in various positions, Galloway says, “A strange turn of events found me as a graduate student in the famous Leadership Training Program at the then San Fernando Valley State College, now California State University, Northridge.”

“Upon receiving my master’s degree, the late Dr. Ray L. Jones, the legendary educational leader who paved the way for many deaf individuals to move into leadership positions. . .persuaded me to remain at CSUN as a faculty member and to assume partial responsibility for the Leadership Training Program. Undoubtedly, my years in the LTP gave me the impetus to move ahead and upward, and ultimately led me to the superintendency of two state schools for the deaf.” Galloway was Superintendent of the Scranton School for the Deaf in Pennsylvania, and Texas School for the Deaf in Austin.

Galloway, upon encouragement from numerous colleagues and superiors, decided to enroll at the University of Arizona in Tucson for two years as a doctoral student. There, he, along with Dr. Norm Tully and Dr. Richard Johnson, developed a proposal that led to the development of the Community Outreach Program for the Deaf in Tucson. This program recently celebrated its 25th anniversary.

He completed all the requirements but decided to do the dissertation in absentia so he could take his family (including three small children) to Rochester, N.Y., and accept a position at the National Technical Institute of the Deaf (NTID). He started as an educational specialist in the College of Science and College of Applied Science, and eventually became the Director of Certificate, Diploma and Associate of Arts program.

He says of that time, “It was an exciting time, a real opportunity to break ground in the education of deaf individuals. I welcomed very much the responsibility to establish the program for the very first 70 students to enroll at NTID. This is yet another accomplishment of which I am proud. I should point out that it was at NTID where I learned to accept responsibility and to carry it out completely.”

Galloway’s immediate supervisor was Dr. William Castle, who was the Vice President of NTID for many years. Galloway says of Castle, “He strongly believed that if one was assigned a major responsibility, he or she must have the authority to carry out this responsibility. I am forever indebted to Dr. Castle for grooming me for future challenges.”

Galloway made his way to his most recent career at the Department of Education in Washington, D.C., where he was Chief of the Deafness and Communicative Disorders Branch. Here, he was heavily involved with technology. When asked how he got involved with promoting technology, Galloway answers, “In October of 1994 I was going through an exhibit hall on my way to my office building. This all-day exhibit was primarily to showcase various computers and programs that could increase the federal government’s productivity and so on.

“The one that fascinated me was a monitor showing a speaker apparently presenting a paper and I was trying to decide if the computer was using a tape.” The exhibitor of that booth started to speak to Galloway, but when Galloway indicated he was deaf, the exhibitor immediately retrieved an interpreter. The exhibitor then explained that the speaker was actually at a site in front of a camera 25 miles away in Rockville. This was Galloway’s introduction to videoconferencing, and he quickly saw how two deaf people could communicate using this technology.

After a preliminary experiment, Galloway set up a videoconference with the Rehabilitation Services Administration, the University of Illinois, and a group of rehabilitation students at the University of Dublin in Ireland. He says, “This is the technology of the future—no, make it the present! With the growth of fiberglass optics networks, the cost of this development will slowly decrease. The current high costs discourage the use of this technology in the homes of deaf people.”

Galloway sees a future in this for fields such as remote interpreting and one-on-one conversations between deaf individuals in different locations. “Many of the technical developments that we see today are those we did not even dream of just a decade ago. I believe that such developments will eventually enable deaf and hard of hearing individuals to communicate with their hearing colleagues regardless of the differences in their linguistic capabilities,” predicts Galloway.

“With the rapidly changing faces of this planet and the constant upheaval in the world of work along with the new developments that quickly become obsolete (remember when WordPerfect 5.1 was big?), we must be mentally prepared to accept such shifts in the area of employment and to fully realize that no one can stop learning.”

Galloway also emphasizes the importance of continuing education. “Over the decades I have had to continually go to school or to enroll in short-term training programs in order to remain abreast of development.”

In 1994, Galloway even got a taste of the big screen by appearing in The River Wild, a movie with Meryl Streep. The movie, which was filmed in Montana, left quite an impression upon Galloway. “It was some experience that I will never forget! I left the set with a lot more respect for filmmaking!” he says. “I enjoyed playing the role of her father. I was on the set nearly seven weeks and ended up with about five minutes on the screen so that tells how so much work is involved!”

Galloway also says that Meryl Streep was such a sincere person. “I found [her] to be a true artist and one really wonderful person. There is absolutely nothing phony about her; she is genuinely a good person. I enjoyed playing the role of her father.”

Now that Galloway has achieved so much in his career, doesn’t he want to rest and appreciate his free time? “Free time? Let me tell you this…retirement is but a phase in your career!”

Even though he recommends retirement highly, Galloway shares a story he jokingly identifies with. “Seems there was a very well-liked four-star general at a base located adjacent to a thriving small community. He had become a fixture there, so when one day he announced his retirement it sent a ripple of shock throughout the entire community. The local paper’s reporter decided to go to the base to interview him. ‘So now after so many years on the base what are you going to do?’ asked the reporter. The genial general thought momentarily and replied, ‘Well, I reckon I will go back to my ranch and sit in my favorite rocking chair on the front porch and then after two weeks I will begin to rock!’”

Galloway plans to work on several home projects, doing a bit of consulting in the area of education and rehabilitation of deaf and hard of hearing people, spending time with his wife and travelling when she retires in a few years, enjoying his grandchildren, and most importantly, breaking 100 on the golf course. He says of time with his family and golf, “This I think is like riding into the glorious sunset!”

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Filed Under: Community resources, Deaf education, DeafNation Newspaper, Notable People

Deaf Schools: TRUE-BUSINESS Deaf?

November 1, 1997

deafstaffchart1997This article originally appeared in DeafNation Newspaper, November 1997. Read the 10-year follow-up article here.

Editor’s note: TRUE-BUSINESS is an ASL gloss. The rough English equivalent is: “Is it really true?” or “Are you sure?”

One of the cornerstones of the Deaf community is the residential school.

Ever since American School for the Deaf was first founded in 1817 by Laurent Clerc and Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet, deaf students have been going to deaf schools.

True, these schools were often predominantly run by hearing teachers and administrators, not to mention janitors and dormitory staff.

But in the 180 years since ASD was founded, deaf people are found at every level within deaf schools. Nowadays, it seems that most residential schools are run by deaf people in every category, from janitorial to dormitory supervision to teachers to administration.

Have the times really changed? Are residential schools for deaf students now really mostly deaf-run?

DeafNation contacted over 40 deaf schools, and got the numbers of hearing and deaf staff at various deaf schools during the 1996-1997 academic year (see graph).

From the 21 schools that responded or had the numbers available, the highest percentages were found at two schools renowned for their high rate of success in deaf students.

But even with the highest percentage, it was surprising to find that not one school that responded had a majority of deaf staff*. Many schools also refused to respond to DeafNation’s request for statistics.

The schools with the highest percentage (46%) of deaf workers were California School for the Deaf-Fremont, run by Superintendent Henry Klopping, who is a child of deaf adults (CODA), and Model Secondary School for the Deaf/Kendall Demonstration Elementary School, located at Gallaudet University.

The next highest was Maryland School for the Deaf, run by Superintendent James Tucker, who is Deaf, with a 41% deaf staff. Following that was a lower percentage of 35%, at Michigan School for the Deaf.

These numbers are startling, considering how loud the Deaf President Now movement was in 1988, and considering how the Americans with Disabilities Act has tried to provide equality in the workplace and elsewhere.

Is it a case of hiring discrimination? Is it a case of simply insufficient availability of deaf teachers and administrators? Why are there no residential schools that have a majority of staff being Deaf?

Most cited is the widening of career choices for deaf professionals. Peter Seiler, formerly the superintendent of the Illinois School for the Deaf and currently the superintendent of the Arkansas School for the Deaf in Little Rock, says, “I think we have done such a good job in opening many doors for career opportunities that teacher is no longer the only professional choice for educated deaf people. That is one reason and maybe the major reason for the low percentage of deaf and hard of hearing professional staff.”

David Updegraff, a hearing (but losing his hearing slowly) superintendent of the St. Mary’s School for the Deaf in Buffalo, N.Y., agrees with Seiler. “For example, how many deaf people 10 years ago worked as reporters for newspapers? Probably none, but there were printers. It used to be that if deaf people wanted a professional career, they almost had to work in a school for the deaf. There were always a few exceptions, like ministers or rehabilitation counselors, but the situation is radically different now. Merrill Lynch has deaf stockbrokers, an auto dealer has a deaf salesman, a law firm has deaf attorneys and so on.”

Hiring systems and pay levels were also cited as possible reasons for the low percentages, especially in state-supported residential schools. Alex Slappey, the Deaf superintendent of the Wisconsin School for the Deaf in Delavan, explains, “State residential schools tend to follow state hiring requirements. Sometimes the system will put a deaf individual at a disadvantage.”

Seiler supports this theory, saying, “Since state schools for the deaf are operated as a state agency, these schools are stuck by the state level pay grade plan. . . State legislators want to shave costs from the state budget to make the taxpayers happy and so they pick on programs with little visibility and state schools for the deaf have little visibility.”

Another major possible reason cited by both Updegraff and Seiler is the issue of teaching certification. Updegraff states, “There is still a serious problem in many states with the requirement that teachers pass the National Teacher Examination to get certified. That is a tough exam for many people to pass, including deaf and hearing people, but deaf people have a tougher time than hearing because of the structure of the exam.”

Seiler concurs. “These tests often stress speech development rather than language development or communication development. These tests are also culturally biased towards hearing people and away from the deaf people.”

Just how this disproportionate number of deaf staff affects the heart of every deaf school—the students—is a key question in many superintendents’ minds.

David LeFors, who worked at the Louisiana School for the Deaf in Baton Rouge from 1992 to 1994 as a dorm counselor, says, “The kids would always come to me or other deaf counselors, because they were more comfortable to talk with us and because they could communicate with us without having to repeat or slow down. They seldom went to the hearing counselors because they didn’t see much support or bonding from the hearing staff.” LeFors left LSD to take a better-paying job.

Brian Sipek, a junior at the Illinois School for the Deaf in Jacksonville, recognizes this comfort level with deaf staff, also. “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.” Sipek is third-generation Deaf.

Slappey says, “I believe the outnumbering of hearing staff also affects the level of language interaction with the children. They have less exposure to fluent ASL through native users.”

Dr. Ernesto Santistevan, a hearing clinical psychologist at the New Mexico School for the Deaf, admits the limitations of being a hearing person at a deaf school is quite powerful for the students. Even though Santistevan is quite fluent in ASL, having earned his degree in Gallaudet University’s five-year doctoral program, he says, “I don’t have that effortless communication and knowledge of culture a CODA or a Deaf person would have. It impacts service and I believe anyone who says it doesn’t is fooling themselves.”

Santistevan adds, “I think it affects the kids because it is hard to find Deaf role models in high stations.”

When asked how to solve this disparity in numbers, Slappey mentions that aside from increasing pay scales for deaf workers commensurate with their position’s responsibilities, “I also think we need to get more deaf adults interested in teaching as a career.” He cautions, however, “What I don’t think we should do, is hire the deaf just for the sake of having deaf staff in positions. If they are not qualified, if they are not the best applicants, then we are ‘watering down’ the quality of our program and that is not in the best interests of our children.”

He also states, “I think it affects the students in the sense that they continue to see the deaf as a less powerful minority. I think it sends a message that does not help the self-esteem of the deaf.”

There appears to be a long list of questions surrounding this issue. Schools must take into consideration whether it is better to hire hearing individuals who are overqualified for their respective positions, or to hire qualified deaf people who have experienced deafness their entire lives. Are schools responsible for not having enough deaf role models? Or is it today Deaf people choose to work in fields long dominated by hearing people? Are Deaf graduates of deaf schools giving back to their schools in various ways, whether it be teaching or simply attending football games?

How do schools address this problem of having a large inequality in deaf and hearing staff, when language is so essential to the child’s learning process? Since deaf schools have a majority of hearing staff, does it mean the hearing staff is to blame for the national reading average being at third grade for the deaf individual? What does it all mean for the student?

Ronald Sipek, Brian’s father and also a graduate of the Illinois School for the Deaf, says, “I can’t imagine what it is like for those students to have limited deaf role models. It is so important for them to have teachers and workers that they can go to who will understand their deaf ways, their communication, and their experiences, because they have, too, experienced it themselves. Brian has a Deaf family. But what about those who are not from Deaf families? Who do they look up to if there are not enough deaf role models at the schools?”

* The word staff includes those employed at every level, including janitorial, administration, teaching and support staff.

Read the 10-year follow-up article here.

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Filed Under: Deaf education, DeafNation Newspaper, Language, Parenting

Can I Speak Now?

October 1, 1997

This originally appeared in Who Speaks for the Deaf Community: A Deaf American Monogram, published by the National Association of the Deaf in 1997 (Volume 47).

(To read the epilogue to this article, click here.)

A year to the day I was born, PL 94-142 was created. That’s when bureaucrats began to speak for me.

My mother and father both graduated from deaf schools, although one grew up oralist and the other grew up in a very ASL-oriented environment. My parents used ASL with me from the very first minute of my birth. I started signing at six months of age, and learned to read at age two.

Because of this, it was determined I was ready for preschool. My mother was told by “experts” that placing me in self-contained classes at a hearing day school would be the least restrictive environment, in keeping with the new law PL 94-142.

When I started preschool in 1976, a year after the passage of that law, that’s when experts in the field of deafness (none were deaf) spoke for me.

It was determined by local school officials that using total communication, so to speak, would be best for me. My parents were encouraged to use voice when talking to me at home, even when they were using ASL. Mom’s daily interactions with me were brushed aside by these officials. I was also put in speech therapy, and spent hours learning to pronounce my name with the help of my hearing aid. I still can’t speak my name today, but I can say the letter “k” very well.

When I started being mainstreamed in the fourth grade, teachers of the hearing-impaired spoke for me. Also, because I was a “special needs” child, school psychologists spoke for me.

I oftentimes had to rely on classmates when my interpreter did not show up or was ill. Teachers felt it would be best for me if I were moved a few grades up in my mainstreamed endeavors. However, they lacked resources for my needs, such as support services. Psychologists took an IQ test from me annually, and proclaimed me a child that was well-adjusted to being among “normal peers.”

When I was about to enter the sixth grade, there were no remaining deaf peers in my age or grade group, because all of them had transferred to the Illinois School for the Deaf 30 minutes away. I decided I wanted to transfer to ISD, too. School administrators said I would fail in the hearing world if I continued to defy their wishes of learning speech and being as normal as possible instead of being institutionalized. That’s when school administrators again spoke for me.

The school principal, who had banned my mother from elementary school grounds after my mother got angry at my teacher-of-the-hearing-impaired for not providing me with more challenging schoolwork, suddenly asked my mother to come in for meetings and tried to convince Mom not to let me transfer to ISD. After years of having her feedback and knowledge about me being dismissed quickly. Mom was now a respected and coveted factor in making me stay at this public school

When I decided to leave ISD after their inability to meet my needs, that’s when deaf faculty and staff spoke for me.

At ISD, it was a whole new world. I felt at home there. Staff and teachers were family friends, or even neighbors. But I spent a great deal of the day wandering the school halls and campus because I would often finish the assigned work long before the due date. Teachers sent me on errands to keep me busy while the other students did their work.

Since Mom was moving due to a remarriage, I decided to move with her and entered a new public school system that had a large deaf program—which would fulfill my social needs—but also because this public school had a honors program that would meet my educational needs (the previous two schools I had attended—both hearing and deaf—did not have such a program aside from gifted programs).

Administrators and teachers, and houseparents as well, got very angry with me for leaving where I “belonged.” They said that I should think of my sports opportunities, of my socialization opportunities, and of my people. Near the end, a deaf printing teacher who was the father of my classmate, branded me by saying in front of several others that I was a true traitor and did not know how to be a real deaf person. I was 10 years old at the time.

When I re-entered the mainstreamed world, that’s when interpreters spoke for me.

I sat in the classroom, seeing my interpreters explain to the teachers and students how to talk to me. They would often voice what my deaf classmates in the hearing classroom and I were talking about, but refused to sign what hearing classmates were voicing. Interpreters would also approach the teachers and talk to them about our behavior, our grades, and other issues strictly reserved for teachers or appropriate personnel.

When I entered high school, that’s when interpreters didn’t just speak for me, they also spoke about me.

There was an interpreter named Lori who would constantly criticize my ASL in front of the other deaf kids. I signed “too fast” and “too ASL” for her. I was a 13-year-old. She laughed and mocked me, voicing her comments for the benefits of hearing listeners. This continued for a long time with repeated requests from me for her to stop (she didn’t), until I finally refused to attend class. My mother called a meeting with my guidance counselor, a CODA who was also responsible for coordinating interpreting services. He immediately set the interpreter straight and taught her a thing or two about native signers.

When my mother and I attended an Individualized Education Plan meeting, and my mother requested for me to stop participating in speech therapy, that’s when audiologists spoke for me.

My audiologist* got upset when I proclaimed my desire to stop wearing hearing aids, and my comments of realization that speech was of absolutely no use to me at this point in life. The audiologist called my attitudes as having been spoiled by my mother, pointing out that I only had a 35 dB loss with hearing aids (80-85 dB without). My mother reminded this audiologist that she was a deaf person who relied very much on her speaking skills, using the phone on a daily basis. The audiologist, soon after that incident, became very involved with the deaf culture and quit her profession. She currently is very fluent in ASL.

* Note: It was actually a speech pathologist, but back then, I called them all audiologists because I didn’t know the difference, nor did I care. —01/10/12

When I entered Gallaudet University, that’s when the deaf of deaf spoke for me, and the mainstreamed deaf spoke for me.

Whenever I met a deaf person from a deaf family and mentioned that I had been mainstreamed, I would often rush to add, “But I’m from a deaf family.” And then with mainstreamed people, who would sniff when they found out I was “deaf of deaf”—I would also be quick to add, “But I went to a public high school.” Even so, Gallaudet was home yet once again.

When I entered graduate school and was the first deaf for those in my particular program. That’s when hearing people continued to believe that they had to speak for me.

Professors would hem and haw whenever they saw my interpreters in class. These professors would also ask the interpreters to help me, but of course, my interpreters would set the teachers straight. Hearing students would either shy away or rush to my “aid” whenever group projects were assigned, and beam proudly when I agreed to do projects with them. I did not attend the graduation ceremony, choosing to attend a deaf event instead on that day.

When I graduated and had no more school people to speak for me, that’s when everybody in the deaf community spoke for me.

Hearing people sometimes accuse me of being militant because of automatic qualifiers of being a militant deaf person: I have a surplus of deaf relatives and am a native ASL user—and most of all, because I am very much a member of the deaf culture. I have to watch hearing people gasp at the level of my success because I am a “deaf-mute.” Particular organizations of the deaf focus mainly on legislative issues rather than grassroots issues that face deaf people—including me—on a daily basis, even though I pay to be a member of these organizations. I get accused of being part of a deaf cult. I get asked for my opinion on everything from cochlear implants to language. I get asked to represent my people. When do I get to speak for me, and only me?

Now.

I do not speak for other deaf people. I do not speak for my deaf parents, my deaf relatives, or my deaf friends. I speak based on my own experiences, but I do not make generalizations.

I can, and will, only speak for me now.

(To read the epilogue to this article, click here.)

Filed Under: Childhood, Culture, Deaf education, Gallaudet, Interpreting, Legal, Parenting
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