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Back from the deaf: A life lost and then found - Local News - News - General - The Warrnambool Standard
THE gentle sound of cicadas humming on a balmy summer's night is a sound Mark Gravolin yearns to hear.
But the Warrnambool man, who lost his hearing in an unprovoked nightclub assault almost two decades ago, does not consider himself unfortunate.
Mr Gravolin brings joy to families and friends of deaf across the south-west through teaching AUSLAN, Australian sign language, at Warrnambool's Community College.
Born with full hearing, Mr Gravolin said adjusting to a life with limited sound was difficult.
"At first my hearing dropped out in one ear, then it dropped out in the other," he said.
"I can still hear a bit but it is like a garble.
"But I'm familiar with the English language and after talking to someone for a while I can pick up the clues and understand them."
Mr Gravolin's life of sound came crashing down in his early 20s. He was celebrating his housemate's 21st at a Melbourne bar in 1991. He tapped a man on the shoulder, who turned around, knocking him clean flat.
"I fell back on my head and fractured my scull," he said.
"It was just a misunderstanding. I tapped this fella on the shoulder and he turned around and hit me.
"We didn't get to see who he was. My friends were too worried about me. I gave a statement to police but no one was ever charged."
His hearing loss was gradual. It went, only to come back again, then disappeared and reached his current hearing level two years after the assault in 1993.
Mr Gravolin, a trained primary school teacher, said he initially felt as though he had lost his identity.
Just like every other young male on the brink of reaching his prime, he loved going out to clubs and pubs, listening to bands.
He said even the simplest of tasks such as vacuuming became difficult.
"This happens to a lot of deaf people. You are vacuuming the floor and the power plug comes out but you dont notice because you can't hear it. It can be frustrating."
It was becoming involved with other deaf people and learning AUSLAN that made Mr Gravolin realise he was not alone, with his sense of self and identity slowly coming back.
"The deaf community thinks of themselves as a language minority, not a disabled group," he said.
"We can communicate and live just like anyone else, just in a different way."
It is true when you lose one sense, the others become stronger, Mr Gravolin said.
He now relies more on his peripheral vision, especially while driving.
"There is an argument which say the deaf are better drivers than people with full hearing.
"I use the corners of my eyes a lot more, because that is my first warning of something coming. I suppose we are more spatially aware."
While deaf people can enjoy life the same as anyone else, the casual primary school teacher said life in the country could be tough.
In rural areas where the deaf community's population was small it was easy to feel isolated, he said.
In the city there are different groups for deaf people to socialise. "There are deaf clubs where we can get together and exchange news and catch up. There are also (deaf) sporting groups.
"But in the country there is none of that because the numbers are so low. There are also no qualified (deaf) interpreters out here." But through Mr Gravolin's work, deaf people across the south-west do not feel so alone any more.
He has taught at Warrnambool Community College, formerly SEAL, for the past four years.
He said his courses attracted people who had deaf members in their families through to people who worked in the community services and health industries and hoped to communicate better with their clients.
The course starts with basics - learning to sign numbers and letters - before moving towards more advanced communication.
"It goes for eight weeks, for two hours a week. It caters for people who don't have any knowledge of sign language," he said.
"Like any other language, how far you go depends on what degree of fluency you want to reach. It is quite easy to pick up but it has its difficulties. It's a different language with different grammar."
There are numerous sign language systems across the world. For instance, the Americans and British have completely different systems to Australia's.
Warrnambool aged-care worker Liz Morse said the language was fun to learn.
"I work at Lyndoch and thought learning sign language would be beneficial to our clients," she said.
"Mark does a fabulous job. He makes it really enjoyable to learn, we even play games. It's definitely a skill which comes in handy."
While Mr Gravolin admitted life was good, he said there were some simple things he missed.
"Probably the biggest thing is listening to cicadas on a summer's evening, I can't hear them any more.
"Also with music, unless it is old and something I was used to hearing, I can't make it out. But I see the hit music videos on Saturday mornings and think I'm not missing out on too much," he laughed.
THE gentle sound of cicadas humming on a balmy summer's night is a sound Mark Gravolin yearns to hear.
But the Warrnambool man, who lost his hearing in an unprovoked nightclub assault almost two decades ago, does not consider himself unfortunate.
Mr Gravolin brings joy to families and friends of deaf across the south-west through teaching AUSLAN, Australian sign language, at Warrnambool's Community College.
Born with full hearing, Mr Gravolin said adjusting to a life with limited sound was difficult.
"At first my hearing dropped out in one ear, then it dropped out in the other," he said.
"I can still hear a bit but it is like a garble.
"But I'm familiar with the English language and after talking to someone for a while I can pick up the clues and understand them."
Mr Gravolin's life of sound came crashing down in his early 20s. He was celebrating his housemate's 21st at a Melbourne bar in 1991. He tapped a man on the shoulder, who turned around, knocking him clean flat.
"I fell back on my head and fractured my scull," he said.
"It was just a misunderstanding. I tapped this fella on the shoulder and he turned around and hit me.
"We didn't get to see who he was. My friends were too worried about me. I gave a statement to police but no one was ever charged."
His hearing loss was gradual. It went, only to come back again, then disappeared and reached his current hearing level two years after the assault in 1993.
Mr Gravolin, a trained primary school teacher, said he initially felt as though he had lost his identity.
Just like every other young male on the brink of reaching his prime, he loved going out to clubs and pubs, listening to bands.
He said even the simplest of tasks such as vacuuming became difficult.
"This happens to a lot of deaf people. You are vacuuming the floor and the power plug comes out but you dont notice because you can't hear it. It can be frustrating."
It was becoming involved with other deaf people and learning AUSLAN that made Mr Gravolin realise he was not alone, with his sense of self and identity slowly coming back.
"The deaf community thinks of themselves as a language minority, not a disabled group," he said.
"We can communicate and live just like anyone else, just in a different way."
It is true when you lose one sense, the others become stronger, Mr Gravolin said.
He now relies more on his peripheral vision, especially while driving.
"There is an argument which say the deaf are better drivers than people with full hearing.
"I use the corners of my eyes a lot more, because that is my first warning of something coming. I suppose we are more spatially aware."
While deaf people can enjoy life the same as anyone else, the casual primary school teacher said life in the country could be tough.
In rural areas where the deaf community's population was small it was easy to feel isolated, he said.
In the city there are different groups for deaf people to socialise. "There are deaf clubs where we can get together and exchange news and catch up. There are also (deaf) sporting groups.
"But in the country there is none of that because the numbers are so low. There are also no qualified (deaf) interpreters out here." But through Mr Gravolin's work, deaf people across the south-west do not feel so alone any more.
He has taught at Warrnambool Community College, formerly SEAL, for the past four years.
He said his courses attracted people who had deaf members in their families through to people who worked in the community services and health industries and hoped to communicate better with their clients.
The course starts with basics - learning to sign numbers and letters - before moving towards more advanced communication.
"It goes for eight weeks, for two hours a week. It caters for people who don't have any knowledge of sign language," he said.
"Like any other language, how far you go depends on what degree of fluency you want to reach. It is quite easy to pick up but it has its difficulties. It's a different language with different grammar."
There are numerous sign language systems across the world. For instance, the Americans and British have completely different systems to Australia's.
Warrnambool aged-care worker Liz Morse said the language was fun to learn.
"I work at Lyndoch and thought learning sign language would be beneficial to our clients," she said.
"Mark does a fabulous job. He makes it really enjoyable to learn, we even play games. It's definitely a skill which comes in handy."
While Mr Gravolin admitted life was good, he said there were some simple things he missed.
"Probably the biggest thing is listening to cicadas on a summer's evening, I can't hear them any more.
"Also with music, unless it is old and something I was used to hearing, I can't make it out. But I see the hit music videos on Saturday mornings and think I'm not missing out on too much," he laughed.
