Miss-Delectable
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'Aren't you supposed to be deaf? How come you can talk?' - Opinion - The Olympian - Olympia, Washington
Starting in late summer, thousands of salmon will return to statewide rivers and creeks to complete their life cycles. This annual event attracts thousands of anglers from all walks of life.
Last August, I had an opportunity to take a young apprentice for his first king salmon experience. Our hands silently danced and flashed with excitement as we walked toward my favorite hole on the Skokomish River. Without a verbal word, we reviewed drift fishing techniques and the challenges of landing the "big one."
Soon we arrived, waded out and joined those already fishing. I quickly noticed one fellow who had assumed the duties of netting. On the Skokomish, you are allowed to keep one fish per day and as a traditional courtesy, those who have already caught their fish who don't want to leave become the designated netter. After curiously watching us for a few minutes, he approached me and gestured toward his fish while rubbing his stomach and licking his lips. Clearly, his fish was destined to be the delicious guest of honor at a barbecue.
I laughed and gave him a thumb up when suddenly that magical feeling, "thoom," trickled up my line. On instinct, my rod whipped skyward and instantly a massive king rocketed downstream.
Line sizzled from my reel as my panicked mind flooded with countless possibilities of how one can lose a big fish. As I sloshed downstream, I noted with a sigh of relief that my newest friend and his net were dutifully following me along. Fifteen tense moments later, he slipped the net under a nice, legally hooked king.
With the fish ashore, we verbally replayed the battle, including a shared laugh at how I nearly fell into the river chasing my fish. He stopped suddenly, smiled, and said, "Now wait a minute, aren't you supposed to be deaf? How come you can talk?"
Ever since I lost most of my hearing seven years ago, I've had to answer that question many times. After I explained, he slapped me on the back and said, "It surely shouldn't stop you from doing what you want."
Walking home that evening, I reflected that he was absolutely right, nobody should give up their personal ambitions because of disabilities. I certainly don't see myself fitting in society's overused "courageous" or "overcoming the odds" labels. What's courageous about living a full life on my own terms? However, I would be arrogant if I didn't acknowledge my advantages. I've been fortunate to have a wife, family and friends who have encouraged me to keep my deeply rooted spiritual obligation to stay true to myself regardless of personal circumstances. Looking back, my socially perceived weakness has become a personal strength through gaining greater understanding of the tremendous psychological and social effects of disability.
Disabilities may come in many different unique styles and flavors, yet there are some common issues that weave the stories of those who face these challenges while trying to stay true to themselves. Over the next two years I hope to address those challenges in this column and while I'm at it, heck, I might even swap a fish tale or two.
Stephen Roldan, a member of The Olympian's Diversity Panel, is statewide coordinator of deaf services for the Division of Vocational Rehabilitation. He can be reached at roldasj@dshs.wa.gov.
Starting in late summer, thousands of salmon will return to statewide rivers and creeks to complete their life cycles. This annual event attracts thousands of anglers from all walks of life.
Last August, I had an opportunity to take a young apprentice for his first king salmon experience. Our hands silently danced and flashed with excitement as we walked toward my favorite hole on the Skokomish River. Without a verbal word, we reviewed drift fishing techniques and the challenges of landing the "big one."
Soon we arrived, waded out and joined those already fishing. I quickly noticed one fellow who had assumed the duties of netting. On the Skokomish, you are allowed to keep one fish per day and as a traditional courtesy, those who have already caught their fish who don't want to leave become the designated netter. After curiously watching us for a few minutes, he approached me and gestured toward his fish while rubbing his stomach and licking his lips. Clearly, his fish was destined to be the delicious guest of honor at a barbecue.
I laughed and gave him a thumb up when suddenly that magical feeling, "thoom," trickled up my line. On instinct, my rod whipped skyward and instantly a massive king rocketed downstream.
Line sizzled from my reel as my panicked mind flooded with countless possibilities of how one can lose a big fish. As I sloshed downstream, I noted with a sigh of relief that my newest friend and his net were dutifully following me along. Fifteen tense moments later, he slipped the net under a nice, legally hooked king.
With the fish ashore, we verbally replayed the battle, including a shared laugh at how I nearly fell into the river chasing my fish. He stopped suddenly, smiled, and said, "Now wait a minute, aren't you supposed to be deaf? How come you can talk?"
Ever since I lost most of my hearing seven years ago, I've had to answer that question many times. After I explained, he slapped me on the back and said, "It surely shouldn't stop you from doing what you want."
Walking home that evening, I reflected that he was absolutely right, nobody should give up their personal ambitions because of disabilities. I certainly don't see myself fitting in society's overused "courageous" or "overcoming the odds" labels. What's courageous about living a full life on my own terms? However, I would be arrogant if I didn't acknowledge my advantages. I've been fortunate to have a wife, family and friends who have encouraged me to keep my deeply rooted spiritual obligation to stay true to myself regardless of personal circumstances. Looking back, my socially perceived weakness has become a personal strength through gaining greater understanding of the tremendous psychological and social effects of disability.
Disabilities may come in many different unique styles and flavors, yet there are some common issues that weave the stories of those who face these challenges while trying to stay true to themselves. Over the next two years I hope to address those challenges in this column and while I'm at it, heck, I might even swap a fish tale or two.
Stephen Roldan, a member of The Olympian's Diversity Panel, is statewide coordinator of deaf services for the Division of Vocational Rehabilitation. He can be reached at roldasj@dshs.wa.gov.
