26
Amy
Mother and I attended the NSD Summer Workshop for parents and deaf children when I was three, and again when I was four years old, but I don’t remember that. Nor do I remember my first day of school at NSD, when I was only four-and-one-half years old, or even my first year or two. My first memory of NSD was seeing so many deaf girls who I would live with all week, and also my house parent, Kathy Becker, who was deaf. This memory is from when I was seven or eight years old.
The primary dorm where I lived as a young child was for students in Prep 1 through fourth grade. The boys and girls each had their own wing. The dorm had wardrobe closets, dressers, a big living room, bathroom, and playrooms so the deaf children would feel like it was a home.
I was one of the many deaf children who had to live in a dormitory because my family’s home was so far away. It was not possible for me to go home daily, but I went home on Fridays and came back on Sunday afternoons. Staying at school all week and coming home for the weekend and for vacations was my early childhood routine.
I saw the staff and students of NSD daily in the dormitory, classes, and the dining room. We all knew each other. The students were a big family of sisters and brothers who were from ages four to twenty-one years old.
On the first day of school when I entered second grade, I remember opening the door to the primary dorm and seeing a long hallway down the middle of a large room. When I turned my head to the right, I saw three beds, each with their own individual closet and dresser. On the left side it was the same, but only two beds instead of three. I walked a little further, and there was another divided area with the same design as the first area.
Kathy Becker, our house mother, had put our names on the closet doors. I looked around to find my name, so I would know what area I would live in for the school year. Finally, I found “Amy” on a closet. It was near the front entrance on the right side. My bed was the first of the three beds in this area. I was curious. I peeked at the second closet to see whose name was there, “Jeannie.” I knew Jeannie Wruble from when we were in therapy together in Grand Island several years ago. Then I saw that the third closet had no name. I only had one roommate, not two.
Mother put my big blue trunk on the bed and started to unpack my clothes, placing them into the drawers and the closet. Another school year had begun.
Many people might think that attending a residential school for the Deaf is not a good place to be. They may think residential schools are filled with many rules, and the staff does not provide love and care. Well, in a child’s private home, there are rules and some parents provide love and good care and some don’t. So residential schools and private homes are alike in many ways.
However, the rules and feelings are a bit different at a residential school. For example, if a person spilled a soda on the carpet in the living room of the dorm, everyone might be punished and no one could have any drinks in the living room. That would not have happened at my home. At the dorm we had to be in bed at a specific time, and children living at home might not have to do that. We also ate at specific times and were not allowed to roam freely outside to play without house parents present. We usually had the same routine daily.
In the morning, we woke up at 6:30 a.m., dressed, and brushed our teeth. Next we walked to the cafeteria to have breakfast. After thirty minutes of eating breakfast, we returned to the dorm to do light cleaning, such as sweeping the floor, vacuuming the living room, and cleaning the bathroom sinks. When we saw the clock hands showed 8:10 a.m., we lined up and walked upstairs to the primary school. There we spent all day learning many different subjects. When the clock hit 3:30 p.m., school was over. We walked downstairs to our dorm and changed our clothes if we wore a dress that day. After putting on comfortable play clothes, at 4 p.m., we went outside to play for thirty minutes to one hour.
When school ended, I was thrilled to remove my hearing aids. In the dorm, there was a lot of noise, because of kids yelling, playing, dragging tables, or moving chairs. Since we were all deaf, and so was our house parent, we did not need hearing aids. We all communicated through sign, because we could not understand each other’s voices even with hearing aids. Without my aids, I was more comfortable; the silence was less annoying to my ears. Too much noise hurts my head. Also, I could play like a hearing child. I did not have to worry about catching my hand or a toy in the hearing aid cord and breaking it.
After supper, we spent the rest of our evening indoors. Either watching TV, playing with dolls and other toys, or riding bikes in the playroom. Thirty minutes before bedtime, we all took showers and hit the hay at 8:30 p.m. Ten hours later, here comes the next morning. In general it was the same routine over and over.
The only thing I did not like about this routine was that I had to clean. Daily cleaning was mandatory in the dorms except on weekends. Every week the cleaning chart changed, so I didn’t clean the same thing every week. Sometimes I worked alone; other times I worked with two or three girls. When cleaning the bathroom, there were usually three girls. One did the sinks, one did the toilets, and the other did the shower stalls and floor. One girl vacuumed the whole living room. I understood why we had to clean daily. There were many girls living in the dorm and cleaning it would prevent us from getting sick due to germs. One good thing about cleaning every day was that it gave us some responsibility and in the long run, we developed the habit of keeping things clean. As an adult, I’ve discovered that most deaf people who attended deaf schools usually keep their homes cleaner than deaf people who were mainstreamed and did not have to clean daily.
At the dorm, everyone’s space was similar, so I missed my bedroom at home. Nothing really suited my personality at school, unless I decorated my room. But even then it was not the same as my bedroom at home, which had a canopy bed and my cat figurines on the dresser and many more stuffed animals, mostly cats.
I didn’t bring many of my things from home to school, because I would have to show and share them with the other girls, which I did not want to do. So in general, the only things I had at school that expressed my personality were my clothes, a few figurines, stuffed animals, and framed photos. The towels, bedspread, bedroom furniture, and curtains all belong to school and were very plain.
I will never forget the time I brought a poster to the dorm to put on the wall. When I showed it to Kathy, who was very strict and close-minded, she was shocked to see the poster was of a man. I was only eight years old and had a poster of a man. It was John Travolta dressed in a white suit from the movie Saturday Night Fever. Kathy refused to let me post it.
I said, “It is a gift from home. John gave it to me for my birthday.” When she learned the poster was from my family, she said, “Okay.” I wanted it right next to my bed, so I could look at him every night. John Travolta is still my favorite actor.
I don’t think Kathy really appreciated it, but there was nothing she can do about it. Even when she asked me if I wanted to post an animal or cat poster, I declined. I wanted John Travolta. All the other girls posted horses, flowers, and such on their walls, except me. I had my man poster.
As for love and care at a residential school, it depended on which house parent I had. Some would give me a hug, a kiss on the cheek, or check to see how I was doing to be sure I was happy and safe. Others did not, but my fellow students always comforted me. Of course the feelings of love in my family were different from the love I received at school.
Was my life great living in a dormitory? Instead of saying yes or no, I will say “laughter” and “homesick.” I had much laugher and great joy because I could communicate and socialize with the other students easily through sign language without being frustrated, like I would have been if I went to public school and had to speak and lipread. At NSD all my classmates communicated through ASL. It was a blessing that Mother allowed me to learn and communicate through sign language. Otherwise, I would have remained a frustrated child, like the wild little girl Helen Keller.
Yes, there was laughter in the dormitory, because of having a deaf house parent during my elementary level and having other deaf children to play with. Kathy gave each of us a doll with doll clothes. Every summer, she and her husband, Bruce, traveled to many places, even foreign countries. When September came, I looked forward to seeing what gift she would give to me and the other girls. The oddest gift I ever received was a green plastic necklace with a Buddha.
Of course I missed my family and, most of all, my cat, when I was away at school. We had no pets at school. The only thing I could bring to NSD so I would feel like I had a cat was stuffed cats. I had plenty of those with me. I just love cats! I missed my family, because I enjoyed playing with my brother and Mother. We played many different card games and board games, and went different places, like stores, museums, and the library.
Mostly I was homesick on Sunday, because that was when Mother dropped me off for the week at school. What a blessing it was to have Kathy as a housemother. Even though strict, she brought laughter to me when I was hurt or sad. She comforted me after my family left me at the dormitory and went home. My sad emotions did not last long, because Kathy would hug me and say, “It will be all right. Now go play with the other girls.” And then the other girls in my dorm would come to me and say, “Do not worry. You be fine. Go home Friday.” We gave each other pats on the back or hugs, and then we signed, “Let’s go play doctor or go swing.”
That gave me some comfort, and I would forget that Mother and John had just left. I did the same for the other girls who arrived in the dorm after me. The girls became my second family. Within ten minutes, I was laughing with the other deaf children, playing, or talking with them in sign language about what we had done at home on the past weekend.
During the week, I had good care and was busy at school and in the dorm, so I did not really feel homesick; I just looked forward to Friday. If I was homesick during the week, it was generally because I was really sick, not homesick. Staying in the infirmary was very lonely; no other children were there to sign with me. Nothing in the infirmary made me feel calm and comfortable, and the nurse did not come as often as I wished. I was blessed, because I rarely spent time in the infirmary. I think I was only there twice during my years at NSD.
At home, when I was sick, I felt calm and comfortable, because Mother would be around often, and my cat would be beside me. Plus John would bother me or play with me. Even though I was sick, I was comfortable. Maybe it was because I was at home with my family in my own space.
Mother told me that once I put on a good act and convinced the NSD nurse I was sick. Mother brought me home Monday afternoon and took me to the doctor. The doctor examined me and said, “She is not sick.”
Mother asked, “What is wrong, Amy?”
I told her, “My ears hurt.”
Mother said, “The doctor says your ears are fine.”
“My throat hurts some.”
Mother shook her head. “It’s fine, Amy. The doctor said you are not sick.”
We left the doctor and went home. Mother had no idea why I wanted to be home, until supper that night.
“Tomorrow is John’s birthday,” I said. “I want to be here.”
Then Mother knew I was homesick and wanted to be with John for his birthday. She let me stay home all that week, but told me never to do that again.
At school I felt I was not with my family enough. Of course, the best days for laughter were on Friday when I went home. I rarely spent weekends at the dorm when I was in the primary dorm. When I was with my family, I did not want the weekend to end. The weekends at home seemed too short. At school when I had to stay for a weekend, the weekend seemed too long. Odd, both were only two days.
At home I enjoyed eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I love the creamy peanut butter with any kind of red jelly. Mother usually bought “JIF” peanut butter. One day, when I was about eight, I asked my mother, “What does ‘J-I-F’ stand for?
She said, “I do not know.”
I told her, “I know what it means. J-I-F means John is funny.”
Mother and I laughed.
As an adult, I still enjoy eating PBJ sandwiches and when I look at “JIF,” I think how funny my brother can be.
John did many funny things to make me laugh when I was home. For example, he had ragweed allergy and could not breathe well through his nose because of the pollen. His eyes were red and his nose was swollen. He had a funny idea about how to prevent the pollen from bothering him. He took a snorkel mask, removed the glass part, and put tissues where the glass used to be. He thought it would help him breathe better, but he could not see, and he just looked funny.
Other times he would pretend to act like an old man. He would pull his slacks up under his armpits, and walk in a weird manner and make a silly face. He was so funny. I would tell these family events to my second family, the girls in my dorm, when I returned to school.
Of course, sometimes I brought my family laughter. One year I thought karate was great because of the movie Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Late one afternoon, I walked into the kitchen where my mother and brother were. I did not have on shoes, only socks.
I said, “I know how to do karate chops. You want to see it? “
They nodded.
Our kitchen was big, room enough for me do my karate chop. I gave them my best performance, almost! I jumped and kicked out my right leg and my arms and hands chopped the air. When I tried to land, my socks slipped on the floor. My body went straight downward on the hard kitchen floor. Splat! I landed flat on my back.
Mother and John stared down at me. I stood really fast to show my pride even though inside I was in so much pain. I told them, “I need some more practice.”
They agreed by nodding. Afterward, I never tried doing the karate chop in the air. Even though it was many years ago, I still laugh to myself, and so does my family. I thought I could show off to them, but I only gave them laughter.
After years of staying at NSD, I became used to it. As I became older, I was less homesick. For the rest of my school years, I expected to live in a dormitory. At home were all my possessions, and I missed them, but I knew they would be safer there. And yes, I missed my family and my beloved cat, but where else could I have gone for my education?
The Nebraska School for the Deaf, a residential school, was the best place for me. There I learned academics and to appreciate being Deaf. I knew, once I stepped onto the NSD campus, I was in my own little world where everyone was just like me: Deaf and using sign language!