Longing For Home

(That's me at my dad's knee. They called me the milkman's daughter.)

I watched parts of the movie Tarzan with my littlest kids today. I didn't intend to but I found myself strangely entranced. (I need to get out more, I know.) I wasn't sure what it was about the movie that caught my attention and had me transfixed until it came to the segment where the background music is the song "Strangers Like Me" by Phil Collins. That was when I realized what was so fascinating about it all: I am Tarzan, someone who is stuck between two worlds.

Most of you who read here know that I come from a family where both parents were Deaf. I was raised in what is known as 'Deaf culture', a whole separate world from the world of those who can hear. And I LOVED it. For me, this largely unknown Deaf world has always been the place where I feel most at home and this movie somehow got me feeling homesick again.

Words truly escape me when attempting to describe the love I have for the world of the Deaf. The people, the culture, the language... these are all ingrained in me. I embrace them and sometimes fear I will lose them completely. I never want that to happen - it would be like losing a part of my soul.

In my moments of greatest emotion the most frustrating thing remains to be the fact that I can not express myself in spoken words as well as I can in sign language. The difficult part is that the English language often does not translate the passion and depth of meaning behind the words in sign. This is why I love words. The more words I know, the more I have in my arsenal when trying to accurately express myself.

And the more I am able to integrate myself into this world of the hearing which still often feels like a new pair of shoes that are not quite broken in yet.

Homesick

I was homesick again today. Homesick for a part of my life that I rarely experience anymore. It started at church, during a fireside, as we sang the hymn "The Spirit of God" . Every time I hear that song, it takes me back to my first sacrament meeting in the Deaf ward in California.

I have mentioned before that I am a CODA. This means I was lucky enough to attend church with a whole group of Deaf people - and it was a completely unique experience that I love to reminisce about. The first Sunday that we went was, in a word: awesome.

We walked into a small congregation of people, hands flying in varied conversations, before the meeting began. Our family took a seat in a row near the back of the room and waited for the 2 missionaries to arrive. We were greeted by no less than 20 different people, and then the service started. There were the usual formalities: a welcome, some announcements - and then the meeting began with a song - The Spirit of God. When the music director stood at the front of the congregation, hands ready, I remember a feeling of excitement and anticipation. As she led the group through the song, all hands in the room moving in unison to an unheard melody, I was mesmerized by the beauty of it all. And as the chorus came to the words, "...hosannah, hosannah...."a loud CLAP sounded throughout the room as every pair of hands signed the words.

I am homesick for the CLAP during that song. I still hear it in my head every time the song is sung - and it makes me smile. It makes me want to sign the chorus so much that I sometimes have to sit on my hands to control myself.

During the prayer that opened the meeting, I peeked around the room. Not an eye was closed. They all looked forward to the pulpit. To this day I have a hard time closing my eyes during a prayer. It seems to have so much more meaning when I can see the person who is saying (or signing) the words. (Give it a try sometime - no one will know.) I'm homesick for those all-eyes-open prayers.

I'm homesick for ASL conversations, for the brutal honesty that many Deaf people I know are ingrained with. (Sometimes. Because sometimes I don't want the honesty - the polite untruths are usually more comfortable.)

Anyway...I don't want to make this a novel.

Just wanted to say - I'm sort of homesick.

Doesn't everyone get homesick for something at different times in their life?

Wouldn't You Like To Be A CODA, Too?

(Interpreting for Mom and Dad at my older brother's graduation from Junior High, 1983)

I mentioned before that I am a CODA (Child of Deaf Adults). I was born a CODA, I'll die a CODA, and the life I've lived in between has been largely defined by the fact that I am a CODA.

And I LOVE it!

Most CODAs fall into one of two categories:
1) You love Deaf culture, enjoy being a "helper" for your parents and other Deaf people, embrace the language of ASL (American Sign Language) and keep the culture in your heart throughout your life - often becoming a sign language interpreter.
2) You can't stand having to be around Deaf people all the time, resent your parents for asking you to interpret at/for anything, escape the culture as soon as you can and blame all future problems on your parents.

I definitely fit into category 1. I have such fond memories of interpreting for my parents in the most interesting of situations before the ADA law came into effect and businesses and public organizations were not required to provide interpreters for those who were Deaf or hard-of-hearing. Hospital visits, Deaf clubs, church; what a diverse world I was able to experience as a young interpreter! My favorites, though, have to be situations of interpreting at my high school.

My brother Chip and I had the amazing opportunity to interpret for each other's Parent-Teacher Conferences. So we always....well, let's say we looked out for each other. Soon after I graduated, Chip helped lead a student walk-out in support of teachers who were in a salary dispute with the district. My parents were immediately called into the office to discuss Chip's rebelliousness and negative use of leadership ability. They asked me to come interpret.

The principal thanked my parents for coming, thanked me for coming to "help your parents understand the gravity of the situation", and proceeded to tell them in biased detail about what Chip had done and why it was wrong. Well, Chip and I had been talking about his plan for a couple days, so I knew what he did. So instead of interpreting what Mr. Principal was saying, I proceeded to "interpret" for my parents Chip's reasoning and logic behind what he did. When the principal was finished talking, I concluded as well. When he asked my parents what should be done with Chip, they told him how proud they were of him for standing up for what he thought was right and that they backed him up 100%. The principal, flustered, did not know how to respond. He thought he had made himself clear...and I'm sure he did... but my parents got a different story.

Of course, now - as a professional interpreter - I would never do such a thing. The fun thing about being an interpreter is the variety of situations you get to work in. If you like consistency, you can choose to work somewhere like an elementary or secondary school. If you enjoy variety, you can work freelance - through an agency or on your own - and you never know what you'll experience from day to day. I have some incredible stories I could tell, but it's kind of like working for the FBI: I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. Confidentiality is important.

Back to life as a CODA: most CODAs I know fit into category 1 like myself. We love to share stories of our childhoods, and I think we all like to be the center of attention. I personally started out quiet and shy and then discovered a love for becoming an entirely different person on stage in drama classes - then there was no stopping me. In fact, most CODAs who embrace the language and culture seem to be outgoing and precocious.

My kind of people.