Bear
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Am gonna post my source AFTER I tell the story!
Growing up as the child of a deaf adult proved very strenuous. I was always afraid to bring friends home, or introduce people to my parents because they were deaf. I was always afraid that the other kids would make fun of me because my parents were different than everyone else's. I kept their secret hidden, and locked away inside of me.
It was like I was ashamed of their disability because I was afraid it would come back on me and make me look like a freak, make me look different. I turned a blind eye to my mom when she used to ask me if I wanted to learn her language, and how to communicate with her. "why would I want to do that?" "When am I ever going to use it?" I would always ask.
I would see the hurt in her eyes at my reluctance, but I never thought to sit down and actually talk it out with her. I never took the time to become a part of her world, or understand what she was going through, even though she always made an effort to be a part of mine. I watch her as the rest of her hearing diminished. She used to be so lively, so energetic, but I watched that go when the rest of her hearing went.
As I look back now, I often wish that I would have taken the time, and learned her language. As I watch her now, I finally realize that being different isn't always something to be ashamed about. When people say "tell me about your parents?" The first thing I proudly say is "my parents are deaf and they're some of the most brave, amazing people I know."
The usual response I got to that is "Oh my god that is so cool, can you teach me sign language?" When I have to tell that that I never bothered to take the time to learn, and that I dont really know that much sign language, they often look at me with expressions that say "well why in the world not?" All I can tell these people is, "I was ashamed."
Now my mom has all these wonderful friends that think I'm one of the coolest hearing kids they know because I can fingerspell, and I feel like an outsider, a traitor, because I didn't ever want to be a part of their world.
I wish I had though because deaf people are so completely amazing, so accomodating. Their language is one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. The way their hands flow between the different sings, the way there's a different sign for everything, even though in English, we often use the same word to explain different things. They're so easy-going. They make friends easily, and they forge such strong friendships with each other.
Most of the deaf community that I've come into contact with are so close, they're like family. They've never made me feel out of place, or made me feel different, no matter how much I used to resent the fact that my parents were deaf. The experience of being a CODA has proved to be a hardship, but in the end, there are so many rewards that I wouldn't trade it for anything.
The source of this story is my daughter Amanda *last name with held*
Growing up as the child of a deaf adult proved very strenuous. I was always afraid to bring friends home, or introduce people to my parents because they were deaf. I was always afraid that the other kids would make fun of me because my parents were different than everyone else's. I kept their secret hidden, and locked away inside of me.
It was like I was ashamed of their disability because I was afraid it would come back on me and make me look like a freak, make me look different. I turned a blind eye to my mom when she used to ask me if I wanted to learn her language, and how to communicate with her. "why would I want to do that?" "When am I ever going to use it?" I would always ask.
I would see the hurt in her eyes at my reluctance, but I never thought to sit down and actually talk it out with her. I never took the time to become a part of her world, or understand what she was going through, even though she always made an effort to be a part of mine. I watch her as the rest of her hearing diminished. She used to be so lively, so energetic, but I watched that go when the rest of her hearing went.
As I look back now, I often wish that I would have taken the time, and learned her language. As I watch her now, I finally realize that being different isn't always something to be ashamed about. When people say "tell me about your parents?" The first thing I proudly say is "my parents are deaf and they're some of the most brave, amazing people I know."
The usual response I got to that is "Oh my god that is so cool, can you teach me sign language?" When I have to tell that that I never bothered to take the time to learn, and that I dont really know that much sign language, they often look at me with expressions that say "well why in the world not?" All I can tell these people is, "I was ashamed."
Now my mom has all these wonderful friends that think I'm one of the coolest hearing kids they know because I can fingerspell, and I feel like an outsider, a traitor, because I didn't ever want to be a part of their world.
I wish I had though because deaf people are so completely amazing, so accomodating. Their language is one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. The way their hands flow between the different sings, the way there's a different sign for everything, even though in English, we often use the same word to explain different things. They're so easy-going. They make friends easily, and they forge such strong friendships with each other.
Most of the deaf community that I've come into contact with are so close, they're like family. They've never made me feel out of place, or made me feel different, no matter how much I used to resent the fact that my parents were deaf. The experience of being a CODA has proved to be a hardship, but in the end, there are so many rewards that I wouldn't trade it for anything.
The source of this story is my daughter Amanda *last name with held*
glad that you enjoyed the story.
