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News - newsjournalonline.com
There are cheers, laughter, back-pats and high fives. Josephine Thomas, who just won big at cards, does a victory dance.
All the while Buddy Parker's hands move rapidly as he jokes with a friend during the gathering Saturday, "Your phone rang. Pick it up and answer it. 'Hello. Wrong number.' "
Thomas and Parker, both of Daytona Beach, are deaf.
While nearly 50 people gather twice a month for the Greater Daytona Beach Association of the Deaf's game nights in the Easter Seals building on Dunn Avenue, a shot at the cash pot isn't the only reason they attend. They also are there to support each other and discuss common problems.
Chuck Barber, an instructor at Daytona State College, said these social gatherings give the area's deaf population (about 2,000 in Volusia and Flagler counties) the opportunity to feel "normal" for the evening.
"This is one of the only places they have to come and socialize," he said, noting some deaf people become loners.
Barber, who was hard of hearing most of his life and became profoundly deaf as an adult, speaks eloquently about the need to band together to share their common language.
"It's like when a Hispanic person moves here," he said. "There are communities (where the Hispanic population) is large. They want to be there because they have their own language, their own culture."
His point is punctuated by the fact that club members travel from as far away as Orlando, Titusville, Tampa, Ocala and St. Augustine for the opportunity to be with others who term themselves as culturally deaf.
Amy Barber, Chuck's wife and a deaf advocate and sign language instructor with Easter Seals, says the deaf community sees itself differently than the hearing community. She said they prefer to simply be called deaf -- a word she would capitalize in writing because she sees it as the title for a group of people who use a different language.
" 'Hearing impaired' suggests a malfunction or defect, putting the focus on the absence of hearing," said Amy Barber, deaf her whole life. "This medical viewpoint is not shared by us culturally deaf people, who are proud to regard ourselves as a minority language group."
Cultural differences, she said, are that deaf people maintain full eye contact while communicating, will tap on each other or wave their hands to get their attention and will speak bluntly about how they feel.
Gloria Nye, of Port Orange, is one of those people.
"We are all equal," she said, "but we feel hearing people look down on deaf people."
From there, the discussion at her game table turns to the subject of interpreters and the difficulties that come in finding them at local hospitals.
Despite the Civil Rights Act of 1964 that says medical facilities receiving federal funds must provide interpreter services, deaf interpreters in Daytona Beach hospitals are few and far between. A group at the table from St. Augustine, home of the Florida School for the Deaf and the Blind, feel lucky that they aren't faced with the problem.
"St. Augustine has an interpreter, but there's not one in Daytona Beach," Chuck Barber explained, as the group spoke in sign. "It's hard (to talk with doctors) when you have a problem. You have to beg (for an interpreter)."
No solution was found that night, but that's OK, Barber said.
"It's not just games," he said. "This is their outlet. This is where they can discuss issues like this."
There are cheers, laughter, back-pats and high fives. Josephine Thomas, who just won big at cards, does a victory dance.
All the while Buddy Parker's hands move rapidly as he jokes with a friend during the gathering Saturday, "Your phone rang. Pick it up and answer it. 'Hello. Wrong number.' "
Thomas and Parker, both of Daytona Beach, are deaf.
While nearly 50 people gather twice a month for the Greater Daytona Beach Association of the Deaf's game nights in the Easter Seals building on Dunn Avenue, a shot at the cash pot isn't the only reason they attend. They also are there to support each other and discuss common problems.
Chuck Barber, an instructor at Daytona State College, said these social gatherings give the area's deaf population (about 2,000 in Volusia and Flagler counties) the opportunity to feel "normal" for the evening.
"This is one of the only places they have to come and socialize," he said, noting some deaf people become loners.
Barber, who was hard of hearing most of his life and became profoundly deaf as an adult, speaks eloquently about the need to band together to share their common language.
"It's like when a Hispanic person moves here," he said. "There are communities (where the Hispanic population) is large. They want to be there because they have their own language, their own culture."
His point is punctuated by the fact that club members travel from as far away as Orlando, Titusville, Tampa, Ocala and St. Augustine for the opportunity to be with others who term themselves as culturally deaf.
Amy Barber, Chuck's wife and a deaf advocate and sign language instructor with Easter Seals, says the deaf community sees itself differently than the hearing community. She said they prefer to simply be called deaf -- a word she would capitalize in writing because she sees it as the title for a group of people who use a different language.
" 'Hearing impaired' suggests a malfunction or defect, putting the focus on the absence of hearing," said Amy Barber, deaf her whole life. "This medical viewpoint is not shared by us culturally deaf people, who are proud to regard ourselves as a minority language group."
Cultural differences, she said, are that deaf people maintain full eye contact while communicating, will tap on each other or wave their hands to get their attention and will speak bluntly about how they feel.
Gloria Nye, of Port Orange, is one of those people.
"We are all equal," she said, "but we feel hearing people look down on deaf people."
From there, the discussion at her game table turns to the subject of interpreters and the difficulties that come in finding them at local hospitals.
Despite the Civil Rights Act of 1964 that says medical facilities receiving federal funds must provide interpreter services, deaf interpreters in Daytona Beach hospitals are few and far between. A group at the table from St. Augustine, home of the Florida School for the Deaf and the Blind, feel lucky that they aren't faced with the problem.
"St. Augustine has an interpreter, but there's not one in Daytona Beach," Chuck Barber explained, as the group spoke in sign. "It's hard (to talk with doctors) when you have a problem. You have to beg (for an interpreter)."
No solution was found that night, but that's OK, Barber said.
"It's not just games," he said. "This is their outlet. This is where they can discuss issues like this."