Public Schools, the down fall of many a good CODA. I kid you not. Public Schools are a minefield of unexploded cultural missteps. Unsuspecting, naive CODA's innocently cross the line of proper behavior in a hearing setting. Norms and mores that are perfectly acceptable in a home, centered around and governed by Deaf Culture, are totally out of place with in the cookie cutter, button down world of American public education as administered by hearing educators.
I can hear you all, poo pooing this. Rolling your eyes and shaking your heads in disbelief. Thinking to yourself that surely this man is deliberately embellishing and exaggerating his point. Nay say I. All I have said is true, pure and simple.
Just the other day, Kisha, my little Amazon Princess, came home horrified and beside herself due to one such social fopaux. There she sat, face all scrunched up in deep thought in our living room. Eyes red and puffed from where tears had been.
Being the good father I am, I paused in my tracks before she saw me, quickly studied the image of her in such raw emotion. (Boo and hiss all you want, I'm a father and unchecked, raw emotion saps any and all courage I have. Sure, if this was one of my sons, I'd give them the Dad look, tell them to suck it up, punch their shoulder and all would be fine. No messy emotions to clog a male moment. But no, this was unplumbed, unfathomable, unmaleness emotion from my daughter. Leaving me unnerved, unintelligent, and uncoherent.) My eyes darting around the room whilst my mind flipped through various mental maps of how I could make it though the living room and to the stairs without her seeing me. Just as I was making my final choice of which way was best to dash for safely, I started to draw back and spring forward in a near sprint to the stairs. Out of nowhere, I was blindsided and tripped up by the arched right eyebrow over the eyes I had suddenly spied with my peripheral vision. So caught up was I in the fight or flight instinct, that I had not noticed Farah sitting across the room from Kisha. I nearly fell on my face in a vain and clumsy attempt to regain my balance, ineptly trying to appear cool and innocent to my wife as only a husband can do in those moments.
There I stood, looking at Farah, my eyebrows arched impossibly high in mock innocence, deftly avoiding direct eye contact. There sat Farah, looking directly at me, her single eyebrow arched and mouth pulled up on one side. (Let me take a moment to point out the sheer force of a wife's gaze while communicating non-verbally her will and the complete inability of a husband to do anything but his wife's will,when he is caught in just such a gaze. It's staggering...simply staggering...This is a power best used solely for good.) Try and I might, my eyes were drawn to her stare. My inner Manness screamed in totally panic, "In the name of all that is good man, do not look directly in her eyes, or all hope is lost...NOOOOOOOOO...", yet, unable to escape the undeniable pull of her feminine gaze... I did just that. I looked directly into those all powerful, brown, almond shaped eyes...all the while, my inner Manness wept inconsolably. (How do wives do this I ask you?! How do they get this power over their husbands?! It's simply not right.) Not a word was spoken as I turned to Kisha, braced myself, and asked her what had happened at school.
Slowly, Kisah turned her head and looked me dead in the eye and explained that it had been the single most embarrassing day of her kindergarten career. You see, for the last several days, Kisha's teacher, Mrs Pundit, had been working hard on the proper way students are to get the attention of a teacher when they wanted to speak. All the students practiced raising their hands and waiting quietly, patiently to be called on by the teacher. Over and over the kindergarteners were drilled in this indoctrination of mass hypnosis. That is everyone but Kisha. Oh, don't get me wrong, she did well when the class as a whole practiced raising their hands, but once the constraints of mob rule were removed and Kisha once again could give free rein to her independent mind, a brilliant genetic virtue found in the female line of our family, she reverted to old comfortable custom of pounding her foot on the floor and waving her hand at whomever she wanted. Mrs. Pundit, clearly astonished, waited for her to stop. Kisha, who being a kindergartener, continued to stomp the floor and wave her hand and all the while had permitted her mind to wonder to the next interesting thought, without realize the error of her ways. By the time Kisha's attention had returned to her constant foot pounding and hand waving, the entire gaggle of kindergarteners had slowly backed away from her, leaving her as the center of attention. Normally, being the center of attention is a good thing, one that Kisha enjoys to a great extent, but not at that moment. Mrs. Pundit tilted her head and asked Kisha what she had been doing? In her very best kindergarten anthropologist way, Kisha explained the time honored custom, and socially acceptable way, of gaining the attention of those living in her home, when they weren't looking at you. All was going fine with her explanation...that is till she add at the very end, "...how else am I suppose to get people's attention in my home?! Duh! Half of them are deaf". After the prolonged laughing from her classmates subsided, Mrs Pundit thanked Kisha for the impromptu diversity awareness training and as tactfully as she could manage, Mrs Pundit pointed out that what Kisha had been doing was perfectly understandable and appropriate at home, but there were no deaf people in her kindergarten class and thus the foot pounding and have waving was unnecessary.More laughter erupted from the other kindergarteners.
After watching a very dramatic rendition of the unfortunate day's events, I'll admit the uncontrolled laughter I let out with may not have been the best parenting tool to use at that moment. (Hey, I'll have you know, it's part of CODA culture to laugh uproariously at another CODA when the have unintentionally shown their deafness to unknowing NERDA's in a very embarrassing way. We laugh from the shared experience, we have all been there and done that at some point in our lives.) When I finally got my laughter under control, I sat in silence, all the while starting to sweat buckets as both Farah and Kisha just stared at me. The pressure was on and I was expected to share some words of wisdom to set the world right for my little Amazon Princess. Quickly, I pulled from the back of my mind the story about the day I got my first in school detention. Kisha eyes got wider and wider as I told her about the first day back to school from summer vacation when I walked into Mrs Mildred's classroom, took one look at her and said, "Man Mrs. Mildred, you sure have gotten F-A-T over the summer". No one had explained to me, while it was expected and correct to be blunt with deaf people, that hearing people didn't appreciate such untempered honesty. Swiftly, the unapologetic hand of justice swooped me up and placed me into the chair of correction. A chair I was to become all too familiar with in the Principal's office as repeatedly ran head long into the expectations of the hearing world.
Once I finished talking, I was greeted by the marvelous sounds of my daughter's laughter. Shaking her head, Kisha walked over to me, hugged me and giggled some more.
Giggle all she wanted at her Dad. Whether she knew it or not that day, she had the best response a CODA can give to the duel nature of our lives. Giggling is the best response for the day when reality moves in and a young CODA has to learn how to straddle the span between the culture they love and the culture they have to live. A CODA's life is spent straddling between the homey, comfortable, coziness Deaf Culture holds for CODA's, and the foreign,ill-fitting, disconnectedness of hearing culture with all the hard lessons it brings.
As Kisha walked away from me, she stopped and looked at Farah. With all the loving, tender, warmth a young CODA learns from their home culture, she signed, "Don't worry Mommy, I feel better now." She looked at me, shook her head and started to giggle a different giggle. This time it was the giggle of an older CODA, a giggle of experience.
Continuing to giggle, she signed, "I feel much better now I know Dad was way dumber than me when he was little."
I can hear you all, poo pooing this. Rolling your eyes and shaking your heads in disbelief. Thinking to yourself that surely this man is deliberately embellishing and exaggerating his point. Nay say I. All I have said is true, pure and simple.
Just the other day, Kisha, my little Amazon Princess, came home horrified and beside herself due to one such social fopaux. There she sat, face all scrunched up in deep thought in our living room. Eyes red and puffed from where tears had been.
Being the good father I am, I paused in my tracks before she saw me, quickly studied the image of her in such raw emotion. (Boo and hiss all you want, I'm a father and unchecked, raw emotion saps any and all courage I have. Sure, if this was one of my sons, I'd give them the Dad look, tell them to suck it up, punch their shoulder and all would be fine. No messy emotions to clog a male moment. But no, this was unplumbed, unfathomable, unmaleness emotion from my daughter. Leaving me unnerved, unintelligent, and uncoherent.) My eyes darting around the room whilst my mind flipped through various mental maps of how I could make it though the living room and to the stairs without her seeing me. Just as I was making my final choice of which way was best to dash for safely, I started to draw back and spring forward in a near sprint to the stairs. Out of nowhere, I was blindsided and tripped up by the arched right eyebrow over the eyes I had suddenly spied with my peripheral vision. So caught up was I in the fight or flight instinct, that I had not noticed Farah sitting across the room from Kisha. I nearly fell on my face in a vain and clumsy attempt to regain my balance, ineptly trying to appear cool and innocent to my wife as only a husband can do in those moments.
There I stood, looking at Farah, my eyebrows arched impossibly high in mock innocence, deftly avoiding direct eye contact. There sat Farah, looking directly at me, her single eyebrow arched and mouth pulled up on one side. (Let me take a moment to point out the sheer force of a wife's gaze while communicating non-verbally her will and the complete inability of a husband to do anything but his wife's will,when he is caught in just such a gaze. It's staggering...simply staggering...This is a power best used solely for good.) Try and I might, my eyes were drawn to her stare. My inner Manness screamed in totally panic, "In the name of all that is good man, do not look directly in her eyes, or all hope is lost...NOOOOOOOOO...", yet, unable to escape the undeniable pull of her feminine gaze... I did just that. I looked directly into those all powerful, brown, almond shaped eyes...all the while, my inner Manness wept inconsolably. (How do wives do this I ask you?! How do they get this power over their husbands?! It's simply not right.) Not a word was spoken as I turned to Kisha, braced myself, and asked her what had happened at school.
Slowly, Kisah turned her head and looked me dead in the eye and explained that it had been the single most embarrassing day of her kindergarten career. You see, for the last several days, Kisha's teacher, Mrs Pundit, had been working hard on the proper way students are to get the attention of a teacher when they wanted to speak. All the students practiced raising their hands and waiting quietly, patiently to be called on by the teacher. Over and over the kindergarteners were drilled in this indoctrination of mass hypnosis. That is everyone but Kisha. Oh, don't get me wrong, she did well when the class as a whole practiced raising their hands, but once the constraints of mob rule were removed and Kisha once again could give free rein to her independent mind, a brilliant genetic virtue found in the female line of our family, she reverted to old comfortable custom of pounding her foot on the floor and waving her hand at whomever she wanted. Mrs. Pundit, clearly astonished, waited for her to stop. Kisha, who being a kindergartener, continued to stomp the floor and wave her hand and all the while had permitted her mind to wonder to the next interesting thought, without realize the error of her ways. By the time Kisha's attention had returned to her constant foot pounding and hand waving, the entire gaggle of kindergarteners had slowly backed away from her, leaving her as the center of attention. Normally, being the center of attention is a good thing, one that Kisha enjoys to a great extent, but not at that moment. Mrs. Pundit tilted her head and asked Kisha what she had been doing? In her very best kindergarten anthropologist way, Kisha explained the time honored custom, and socially acceptable way, of gaining the attention of those living in her home, when they weren't looking at you. All was going fine with her explanation...that is till she add at the very end, "...how else am I suppose to get people's attention in my home?! Duh! Half of them are deaf". After the prolonged laughing from her classmates subsided, Mrs Pundit thanked Kisha for the impromptu diversity awareness training and as tactfully as she could manage, Mrs Pundit pointed out that what Kisha had been doing was perfectly understandable and appropriate at home, but there were no deaf people in her kindergarten class and thus the foot pounding and have waving was unnecessary.More laughter erupted from the other kindergarteners.
After watching a very dramatic rendition of the unfortunate day's events, I'll admit the uncontrolled laughter I let out with may not have been the best parenting tool to use at that moment. (Hey, I'll have you know, it's part of CODA culture to laugh uproariously at another CODA when the have unintentionally shown their deafness to unknowing NERDA's in a very embarrassing way. We laugh from the shared experience, we have all been there and done that at some point in our lives.) When I finally got my laughter under control, I sat in silence, all the while starting to sweat buckets as both Farah and Kisha just stared at me. The pressure was on and I was expected to share some words of wisdom to set the world right for my little Amazon Princess. Quickly, I pulled from the back of my mind the story about the day I got my first in school detention. Kisha eyes got wider and wider as I told her about the first day back to school from summer vacation when I walked into Mrs Mildred's classroom, took one look at her and said, "Man Mrs. Mildred, you sure have gotten F-A-T over the summer". No one had explained to me, while it was expected and correct to be blunt with deaf people, that hearing people didn't appreciate such untempered honesty. Swiftly, the unapologetic hand of justice swooped me up and placed me into the chair of correction. A chair I was to become all too familiar with in the Principal's office as repeatedly ran head long into the expectations of the hearing world.
Once I finished talking, I was greeted by the marvelous sounds of my daughter's laughter. Shaking her head, Kisha walked over to me, hugged me and giggled some more.
Giggle all she wanted at her Dad. Whether she knew it or not that day, she had the best response a CODA can give to the duel nature of our lives. Giggling is the best response for the day when reality moves in and a young CODA has to learn how to straddle the span between the culture they love and the culture they have to live. A CODA's life is spent straddling between the homey, comfortable, coziness Deaf Culture holds for CODA's, and the foreign,ill-fitting, disconnectedness of hearing culture with all the hard lessons it brings.
As Kisha walked away from me, she stopped and looked at Farah. With all the loving, tender, warmth a young CODA learns from their home culture, she signed, "Don't worry Mommy, I feel better now." She looked at me, shook her head and started to giggle a different giggle. This time it was the giggle of an older CODA, a giggle of experience.
Continuing to giggle, she signed, "I feel much better now I know Dad was way dumber than me when he was little."
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