Believing in our hearts that who we are is enough is the key to a more satisfying and balanced life.
Ellen Sue Stern
Both of my parents believed it was important for Jonathan and me to stay in touch with deaf friends across the country. Our door was always open to our friends and other deaf adults. One day when I was in high school, a couple that were friends of Jonathan’s visited us—Alan and Vicki Hurwitz. Alan was an engineer at McDonnell Douglas, a major American aerospace manufacturing corporation and defense contractor formed by the merger of McDonnell Aircraft and the Douglas Aircraft Company in 1967. Both Alan and Vicki had gone to hearing high schools and colleges and were highly educated, which was unusual for deaf people at the time. Alan went on to earn an EdD, and in 2010, he was named president of Gallaudet University.
It was great for me to spend time with adult role models like Alan and Vicki. They were tangible examples of what was possible for an educated deaf person. These role models, combined with the support of my deaf friends and the amazing love and encouragement of my deaf brother, Jonathan, cemented my confidence in myself as a deaf person.
My parents also encouraged me to visit my deaf friends across the country. They knew how important these relationships would be for me throughout my life. In many ways, our families were trailblazers in establishing support systems for young deaf people that otherwise did not exist then.
During the summer before my senior year of high school, my old CID classmate Erik and I traveled together to visit other CID friends in Indiana and Kentucky. One night, we went out to dinner with Linda and Sheila, and while we were eating, they told us that Keith, the former CID bully, lived near the restaurant. We had our waitress call his mother, who in turn relayed our message to him. Erik and I had not seen him for five years.
When Keith came to the restaurant, we were surprised at how tall and handsome he had become. The real surprise was that he wasn’t very friendly but only tried to impress us. Keith flirted with the girls in a chauvinistic way, which turned us off. But he did offer to take us out for ice cream.
We went in his car, which had been modified to look like a racing car. He drove it like a racer too, and we were relieved to survive the trip. When we got to the Dairy Queen, he parked his car in the back, away from public view. We didn’t understand this at all. Keith asked each of us what we wanted and told us to stay in the car until he returned. When he came back with our cones, we asked him, “What are you doing—trying to keep us out of sight?”
“You talk funny,” he said. “Your speech is not perfect. People look at you as if you’re oddballs. I don’t want my friends to know I have such strange-speaking friends.”
We were shocked into silence. His little speech certainly ruined our appetites for the ice cream. “Just take us to our car,” I said. He did and then terminated the visit immediately.
As he drove away, he looked relieved that we were leaving his town. We were more disappointed than embarrassed. We talked about how sad it was that Keith could not accept his own deafness. His speech was excellent, but Sheila’s was better. He apparently tried to pass for a hearing person with people he met. But this was self-defeating, because it prevented him from asking for the help he needed to understand what was going on around him. Keith’s life must have been full of deceit. We wondered how long he could live with the illusion that pretending to be hearing was better than admitting to being deaf.
I have met a number of deaf people who, like Keith, have tried everything to erase deafness from their lives. They do not acknowledge their hearing losses, their deaf school classmates, and many facts about themselves. They are obsessed with speech lessons and try everything to appear to be hearing people. They study the mannerisms of hearing people and try to imitate them. For example, they try not to use their eyes as much. They try to control their voices and laughter so they don’t expose that they have issues with volume. They feign understanding no matter how much they miss. Many deaf people consider passing-for-hearing behavior to be a sickness. Still, it’s not difficult to see why some deaf people give in to the temptation.
During our trip that summer, Erik and I ran into a couple of situations where some deaf people would have “passed” if they could. Once we stopped at a restaurant for lunch. After we were seated, a waitress walked over and then realized we were deaf. Instantly, her smile and friendly manner disappeared. She took our orders in a way that bothered us; it was not how we were accustomed to being treated. Erik noticed she was friendly with other people at other tables, but every time she came to our table, she turned cold. We were irritated, and Erik decided to tell her so.
When the waitress came to our table again, he said, “You’re so friendly with everyone but us. We can’t stand your sourpuss face and negative body language. You’re discriminating against us just because we’re deaf.” The waitress looked at him in shock and took off for the kitchen.
“I’m not going to leave her a tip,” Erik said. “Do you think we should walk out?” I wasn’t bold enough for that. I persuaded Erik to stay and finish the food, but I agreed: no tip for the waitress.
In a few minutes our waitress came back with the warmest smile we had ever seen. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know I came off so prejudiced. Please accept my apology.” For the rest of our time there, we enjoyed the company of our waitress. In the end, we left her a big tip, after which she came back to thank us and apologize again.
Being with Erik was a wonderful lesson in the power of honest expression. It was a lesson I would have to learn again and again: to express my feelings when I was wronged to help people think about what they had done and increase their awareness. Saying nothing resulted in nothing—everything stayed the same.
Later that summer, Erik wanted to show me the BMW model his father had recently bought, so we went to a dealership. A salesman approached us, but when he realized we were deaf, he walked away. Erik was insulted and became even more so when the salesman started courting other young people in the showroom. Everything Erik did had to be first class. He wouldn’t submit to anything less than VIP treatment. He went back to the salesman and said he had a few questions, but the dealer waved his hands and said, “I have no time for you.” He kept talking to the other young people, and we grew furious when he continued to ignore us and talk to more potential customers who came in later. We were no different—only our speech distinguished us from them.
What happened next was an incident that makes me both satisfied and sad whenever I think of it. Erik, seeing a sign welcoming us to try out one of the new cars, asked to do so. We were denied the courtesy. Then, after seeing the other young people given the keys to a demo, Erik complained to the manager, but the manager preferred to stay out of the conflict. The salesman then threatened us with a monkey wrench from the garage. It was beginning to feel like an episode from Hawaii Five-O.
At this point Erik turned to me and winked. He produced a business card from his wallet from another BMW dealership and explained that his father, a powerful businessman, was part owner of the other dealership. “My father will be in touch with you soon,” he said. We then walked away, leaving the salesman and manager dumbfounded.
As we got into our car, the salesman ran up and begged us to return to the dealership. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he kept repeating. “I misunderstood your intentions.” We said nothing and Erik started the car. I felt sick to my stomach at the man’s helplessness. He was begging for our forgiveness, but Erik ignored him and we drove away.
Later, we wondered how many sleepless nights that salesman spent worrying about Erik’s father and the prospect of losing his job. We had played a monumental trick on him by using that BMW business card from another dealership. We had won a victory, but I didn’t feel good about it. Erik convinced me that we had tried everything and only resorted to deceit when all else failed. He said that the man needed a harsh lesson so that he would respect deaf car buyers in the future. When I thought of the parents who had kept me from driving their daughters on dates, I didn’t feel quite as bad about what we’d done.