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Learning tolerance the hard way | Visalia Times-Delta and Tulare Advance-Register | visaliatimesdelta.com
Reporter Donna-Marie Sonnichsen participated in the annual Barrier Awareness Day as a person with a hearing impairment. Her account appears below.
Hard-of-hearing people usually aggravate me. Even though almost all those dearest to me suffer from this affliction, my eyes roll and tone of voice changes for the worst with each repetition I have to make. Until Saturday.
That's when I spent a few hours in the world of the deaf in an exercise designed to build tolerance for and awareness of the disabled around us and the everyday barriers they face in a world the able-bodied take for granted.
When I put in the little foam ear plugs supplied at the start of the Disability Advocacy Committee's Barrier Day, I was disappointed. I wanted complete deafness, perhaps finding the soul-soothing silence only a power outage in my rural homeland can provide.
But in that muffled nether world of not quite deaf and not quite able to hear, I finally understood the frustration of the hard of hearing. I had never known anyone who was deaf, but I sure could relate to the hard-of-hearing.
And so we roamed downtown Visalia as a team of seven, including our leader's sign language interpreter and did exercises in shopping at various types of stores, applying for work and other exercises to show us the kind of communication issues our team leader, Katherine Carlson, has faced since birth.
We used few words, relying instead on handwritten notes, gestures and facial expressions and even text on a cellphone.
Not-so-funny jokes
Our first encounter was the worst. The seven of us trooped into a barber shop where our high-spirited team leader swept her hand over her head, pointing to all of us and the barber's chair.
Understanding dawned on his face as she pointed to everyone's ears and shook her head and he turned to a co-worker and said something I couldn't hear.
But the anger on the face of a group member and the way she confronted him told me it couldn't have been good. Outside, I learned he'd made remarks on the looks of one girl and made a joke about turning up the music since we couldn't hear.
Not nice to joke at our expense, but I didn't understand my teammate's violent reaction.
Until the 29-year-old told of the struggle to shield her deaf 9-year-old deaf daughter from taunts. She would get so mad, the family rarely left home.
"I was afraid of what I might do," Lorena Zavala said, adding that she'd told the barber she would have "kicked his ---" if she'd been alone.
The rest of the experience was more heartening.
Three people we encountered had hearing impediments of their own, and one salesperson handled a deaf customer with a grace that made me proud of my fellow man and shrink at the thought of my own impatience with far less.
When we told make-up consultant Jessica Rodriguez about the exercise and thanked her for handling it so well, she thanked us.
"You've helped me. You were the first deaf people I've ever dealt with," Rodriguez said afterward.
A job application at a restaurant a few storefronts away had mixed results when after a flurry of written notes, team member Tony Maldonado left with no application form, only instructions to drop off a résumé.
"I don't know if it's because I was deaf but it was different, usually they have forms," said Maldonado, who is actually searching for work.
Encountering the rude
Across the street, a fabric store employee left team member Shannon Ajlium hanging midway through helping her get materials for a project. The clerk said she had to tend cash, but used only spoken words as she walked away.
"I was really shocked. I've been here before and they've always been so polite and helpful. She was just rude," Ajlium said afterward. She returned to confront the clerk, who apologized and said she should have written it down, rather than just walk away talking.
Back on the street, I continued to be amazed at how much our leader could say with just gestures and an incredibly animated face. What a charades player she would make I thought as she did a vivid re-creation of a driver slamming on brakes while teaching us the need to never dropyour guard or vigilant observation when out walking.
Then it was my turn. I had to find a bathroom without even use of a handwritten note. I approached people at a table and imitated Carlson's physicality by grabbing a relevant part of my anatomy and bouncing up and down.
I was greeted with laughter, immediate recognition of need and a woman quickly jumped up to not only point, but lead the way.
I think we got off easier than those who stumbled around terrified and blind, or had aching hands, arms and hearts from facing the limitations of the wheelchair-bound.
But I think I found what I didn't realize I was looking for.
The tolerance those I love deserve and a respect, compassion and willingness to go the extra mile for those not as lucky as me.
As for Zavala, the experience was so positive for the most part that she's regaining her faith in people enough to plan a family outing for next weekend.
Reporter Donna-Marie Sonnichsen participated in the annual Barrier Awareness Day as a person with a hearing impairment. Her account appears below.
Hard-of-hearing people usually aggravate me. Even though almost all those dearest to me suffer from this affliction, my eyes roll and tone of voice changes for the worst with each repetition I have to make. Until Saturday.
That's when I spent a few hours in the world of the deaf in an exercise designed to build tolerance for and awareness of the disabled around us and the everyday barriers they face in a world the able-bodied take for granted.
When I put in the little foam ear plugs supplied at the start of the Disability Advocacy Committee's Barrier Day, I was disappointed. I wanted complete deafness, perhaps finding the soul-soothing silence only a power outage in my rural homeland can provide.
But in that muffled nether world of not quite deaf and not quite able to hear, I finally understood the frustration of the hard of hearing. I had never known anyone who was deaf, but I sure could relate to the hard-of-hearing.
And so we roamed downtown Visalia as a team of seven, including our leader's sign language interpreter and did exercises in shopping at various types of stores, applying for work and other exercises to show us the kind of communication issues our team leader, Katherine Carlson, has faced since birth.
We used few words, relying instead on handwritten notes, gestures and facial expressions and even text on a cellphone.
Not-so-funny jokes
Our first encounter was the worst. The seven of us trooped into a barber shop where our high-spirited team leader swept her hand over her head, pointing to all of us and the barber's chair.
Understanding dawned on his face as she pointed to everyone's ears and shook her head and he turned to a co-worker and said something I couldn't hear.
But the anger on the face of a group member and the way she confronted him told me it couldn't have been good. Outside, I learned he'd made remarks on the looks of one girl and made a joke about turning up the music since we couldn't hear.
Not nice to joke at our expense, but I didn't understand my teammate's violent reaction.
Until the 29-year-old told of the struggle to shield her deaf 9-year-old deaf daughter from taunts. She would get so mad, the family rarely left home.
"I was afraid of what I might do," Lorena Zavala said, adding that she'd told the barber she would have "kicked his ---" if she'd been alone.
The rest of the experience was more heartening.
Three people we encountered had hearing impediments of their own, and one salesperson handled a deaf customer with a grace that made me proud of my fellow man and shrink at the thought of my own impatience with far less.
When we told make-up consultant Jessica Rodriguez about the exercise and thanked her for handling it so well, she thanked us.
"You've helped me. You were the first deaf people I've ever dealt with," Rodriguez said afterward.
A job application at a restaurant a few storefronts away had mixed results when after a flurry of written notes, team member Tony Maldonado left with no application form, only instructions to drop off a résumé.
"I don't know if it's because I was deaf but it was different, usually they have forms," said Maldonado, who is actually searching for work.
Encountering the rude
Across the street, a fabric store employee left team member Shannon Ajlium hanging midway through helping her get materials for a project. The clerk said she had to tend cash, but used only spoken words as she walked away.
"I was really shocked. I've been here before and they've always been so polite and helpful. She was just rude," Ajlium said afterward. She returned to confront the clerk, who apologized and said she should have written it down, rather than just walk away talking.
Back on the street, I continued to be amazed at how much our leader could say with just gestures and an incredibly animated face. What a charades player she would make I thought as she did a vivid re-creation of a driver slamming on brakes while teaching us the need to never dropyour guard or vigilant observation when out walking.
Then it was my turn. I had to find a bathroom without even use of a handwritten note. I approached people at a table and imitated Carlson's physicality by grabbing a relevant part of my anatomy and bouncing up and down.
I was greeted with laughter, immediate recognition of need and a woman quickly jumped up to not only point, but lead the way.
I think we got off easier than those who stumbled around terrified and blind, or had aching hands, arms and hearts from facing the limitations of the wheelchair-bound.
But I think I found what I didn't realize I was looking for.
The tolerance those I love deserve and a respect, compassion and willingness to go the extra mile for those not as lucky as me.
As for Zavala, the experience was so positive for the most part that she's regaining her faith in people enough to plan a family outing for next weekend.