When I first found Deaf culture, it was a friend who introduced me to it. It was a Deaf event at a highschool, where I saw Deaf accepted as they are. I was literally in tears, watching as people told stories in ASL, sharing many experiences that were much like my own. Because of the beauty of what I saw and for the first time, feeling like I wasn't the only one like me, I started learning ASL in the fall of 2014.
When I joined the class, we were assigned some books to read about Deaf culture, and as I read, I felt this amazing connection to the Deaf and Hard of Hearing in the stories. I was amazed. I thought I was the only one, but I'm not. And I started chasing after Deaf culture. It became an idol (something I still struggle with), and I began figuring out my Deaf identity.
All of this took place very rapidly, especially in the eyes of my parents. They watched as I changed from struggling to hear and trying to pretend I was like everyone else, to accepting the norms of Deaf culture and telling them what it was really like for me. They watched as I chased after Deaf culture and they became afraid.
I was entering a world neither of them knew. I was entering a culture with norms that hearing culture doesn't accept. I was fighting to find an identity that was reshaping who they knew me to be. I was standing up for rights, demanding equal access for the first time, and they had no idea what to do. For the first time, I let no one call me broken. For the first time, I let everyone see the Deaf side of me, instead of pretending to be hearing. And much of this change took place in a matter of a few months.
And we fought. How we fought. They thought, in some ways, Deaf meant inferior. That a Deaf person couldn't have a high ranking job. They thought that I would have nothing in common with Deaf because I had learned so much from hearing culture. And they were scared of how rapidly I was changing.
To be fair, I don't change quickly as a general rule. I think and ponder for months, slowly deciding and weighing options. I often remember things from months ago and bring them up in conversation. I don't often change quickly. But when I saw Deaf culture, I did change very quickly. And this rapid change would scare any parent, but even more so with me entering a culture they virtually nothing about.
And I was scared, too. I was afraid, entering a world about which, I knew nothing, either. But I knew that I wanted a place where I wasn't excluded from conversation, where I didn't feel ashamed of having to say "what?" over and over again. I wanted a world where I was normal and accepted, not that token friend people wanted to have to show that they weren't biased, or to feel like a novelty in a group of people. I was tired of sitting on the outskirts of conversation, being left out, and having to stare at my plate at big family dinners because I was missing much of what was going on. So my longing to not be left out overcame my fear of the unknown. My parents did not have that same desire to overcome their fears.
So how do I balance their need for assurance that I am still me, still their daughter, and that they will always have me, while still reaching out for my place in Deaf culture, where I'm not an outcast, or a novelty people bring up in conversation? It is not easy. With at least three grandparents in the medical field, and other family members who were connected with the medical community in the past, we all grew up, me included, with the medical perspective that Deaf means broken, or inferior. We were all generally unconnected from the Deaf community until I entered ASL classes. This was, and still very much is, entirely new, uncharted territory for us, that no one else in my family has ever fully explored like I am doing now. It's new, it's scary, and it takes courage. And some of my family will never even try to understand. But for me, I truly want my parents to understand, because they are the two people on earth who are closest to me. And to fix all the conflict, there is no simple, easy answer. It's a tough situation, where no one but GOD has all the answers. I certainly don't.
When I joined the class, we were assigned some books to read about Deaf culture, and as I read, I felt this amazing connection to the Deaf and Hard of Hearing in the stories. I was amazed. I thought I was the only one, but I'm not. And I started chasing after Deaf culture. It became an idol (something I still struggle with), and I began figuring out my Deaf identity.
All of this took place very rapidly, especially in the eyes of my parents. They watched as I changed from struggling to hear and trying to pretend I was like everyone else, to accepting the norms of Deaf culture and telling them what it was really like for me. They watched as I chased after Deaf culture and they became afraid.
I was entering a world neither of them knew. I was entering a culture with norms that hearing culture doesn't accept. I was fighting to find an identity that was reshaping who they knew me to be. I was standing up for rights, demanding equal access for the first time, and they had no idea what to do. For the first time, I let no one call me broken. For the first time, I let everyone see the Deaf side of me, instead of pretending to be hearing. And much of this change took place in a matter of a few months.
And we fought. How we fought. They thought, in some ways, Deaf meant inferior. That a Deaf person couldn't have a high ranking job. They thought that I would have nothing in common with Deaf because I had learned so much from hearing culture. And they were scared of how rapidly I was changing.
To be fair, I don't change quickly as a general rule. I think and ponder for months, slowly deciding and weighing options. I often remember things from months ago and bring them up in conversation. I don't often change quickly. But when I saw Deaf culture, I did change very quickly. And this rapid change would scare any parent, but even more so with me entering a culture they virtually nothing about.
And I was scared, too. I was afraid, entering a world about which, I knew nothing, either. But I knew that I wanted a place where I wasn't excluded from conversation, where I didn't feel ashamed of having to say "what?" over and over again. I wanted a world where I was normal and accepted, not that token friend people wanted to have to show that they weren't biased, or to feel like a novelty in a group of people. I was tired of sitting on the outskirts of conversation, being left out, and having to stare at my plate at big family dinners because I was missing much of what was going on. So my longing to not be left out overcame my fear of the unknown. My parents did not have that same desire to overcome their fears.
So how do I balance their need for assurance that I am still me, still their daughter, and that they will always have me, while still reaching out for my place in Deaf culture, where I'm not an outcast, or a novelty people bring up in conversation? It is not easy. With at least three grandparents in the medical field, and other family members who were connected with the medical community in the past, we all grew up, me included, with the medical perspective that Deaf means broken, or inferior. We were all generally unconnected from the Deaf community until I entered ASL classes. This was, and still very much is, entirely new, uncharted territory for us, that no one else in my family has ever fully explored like I am doing now. It's new, it's scary, and it takes courage. And some of my family will never even try to understand. But for me, I truly want my parents to understand, because they are the two people on earth who are closest to me. And to fix all the conflict, there is no simple, easy answer. It's a tough situation, where no one but GOD has all the answers. I certainly don't.
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