Ageless Passions by Karen Putz

Tag: deaf

  • Social Bluffing–Revisited

    Back in February of last year, I posted a question on a listserv about “social bluffing” a term that I came up with to describe the practice of pretending to understand conversation. I had googled the term and found nothing on it in reference to deaf and hard of hearing people so I came up with a definition.

    “Social bluffing,” as I said in my article, ” is pretending to hear or understand something that is being said, and behaving in a way that shows you understand, even when you have little or no clue as to what is being said.”

    As a result of the discussion that I initiated, someone mentioned that they were going to write an article about it. I was already in the midst of my own article on social bluffing which was printed in the Hands & Voices Communicator (Summer, 2006):

    Calling Our Bluff: Using Communication Strategies in Social Situations.

    Kathy Allen’s Communication Strategies Sidebar

    I guess imitation is the sincerest form of flattery because the article “Bluffing…The (Not So) Social Truth” by Jay Wyant appeared in the January/February issue of Voices, a publication by the Alexander Graham Bell organization. They also included a sidebar of “Tips and Strategies.”

    But hey, a little credit would have been appreciated.

  • Sound and Fury, Six Years Later– Purchasing Information

    Note: This is a re-post which includes information on how to purchase the film, Sound and Fury, Six Years Later.

    When Sound and Fury was released in October, 2000, the movie spurred discussions about cochlear implants all around the nation. The movie covered the story of two brothers who had deaf children. One chose to obtain a cochlear implant for his son, the other decided not to choose that for his daughter.

    I saw the movie in Chicago at a film festival with a friend. Never before had I experience a movie that was so raw and up close about the decisions that parents make when raising deaf and hard of hearing children.

    Sound and Fury often stayed on my mind, so about a year ago, I decided to get in touch with both families and find out how they were doing. I learned that all of the deaf members of the Artinian family had obtained a cochlear implant, with the exception of Peter. You can read the article here: Sound & Fury: A Family Comes Together Again.
    Josh Aronson, the director of the film, has now released a new film: Sound & Fury, Six Years Later. Heather Artinian obtained an implant at the age of nine and the film chronicles her life as a teen. For more information on how to obtain the film, contact Mr. Aronson at: aronsonfilms@aol.com.

    On another note, the youngest child to receive an implant is three months old: Music to the Ears.

    If you are interested in obtaining a copy of the film, contact Josh Aronson at: Aronsonfilms@aol.com. For schools and libraries, contact: linda@filmakers.com or lbK@aquariusproductions.com.

  • “Alone In The Mainstream” Makes an Impact

    “After I wrote yesterday’s entry,” says Sarah, in her blog, The 8th Nerve, “I ended up on the bathroom floor in a fetal position. That is the only position we are capable of when a lifetime of pain is finally allowed to pour through the body in a few moments. This is the beginning, after 28 years, of my acceptance of my hearing loss. Acceptance of the fact that I truly have a loss that can never be changed. In retrospect, it is unbelievable to me that I never emotionally processed any of this before.”

    I found Sarah’s blog through a comment that she left on mine. She had Googled “Alone In The Mainstream A Deaf Woman Remembers Public School” and found my review of Gina Oliva’s book.

    As I read through Sarah’s blog, my heart went out to her as she shared the beginning of her journey of acceptance– after 28 years, she was just now examining her life as a solitaire, a term that Gina Oliva uses to describe those who grew up having little or no contact with others who are deaf and hard of hearing. But an important point to note is that working through the pain paves the way for new explorations on the road to acceptance. Perhaps this will be a turning point for her and a chance to meet others that she can connect with.

    Gina’s book also made an impact here: What’s That You Said?

  • Socialization and Deaf/hard of hearing kids

    Last Friday, our school district participated in an Advocacy Day at a local high school. Deaf and hard of hearing students from several districts came together for a field trip to learn how to advocate for themselves and their communication needs. A football coach at a private high school shared his experience of being hard of hearing and handling communication issues in his daily life. In our district, my son was the only one to attend this event.

    So this all has me wondering about deaf and hard of hearing adults today–did many of you have contact with other deaf and hard of hearing kids when you were younger? What do you wish your parents had done differently?

  • BookHands: For the Love of Books, Chocolate & Open Communication


    Every six weeks, there are ten of us who gather and share an evening of desserts that almost always include chocolate of some kind. We fill our plates with the goodies, grab a drink, and gather around to catch up on the latest news and a brief update on our kids.

    Then the host implores everyone to sit down, grab their books, and make one final trip to fill up a plate. So begins an evening of BookHands, a women’s book club located in the Chicagoland area. The discussion begins by describing a brief reaction to the book that was selected weeks ago. One by one, we share our perspectives of the book, answer questions prepared by the host, or conduct an analysis of characters or events.

    BookHands was the creation of Karen Carrier Kurt, a deaf mom who realized that a night out with other deaf moms often turned into a discussion about current books. She thought it would be fun to have a few moms over to do just that. In May 2003, Karen invited a few deaf moms that she knew and others that she met through “friends of friends.” The first meeting was held at her house, and the selected book was Lucky Man, an autobiography of Michael J. Fox.

    Over the years, the books have evolved and so have the discussions. Some of the members use American Sign Language and some use simultaneous communication (signing and speaking at the same time). The name BookHands is a natural fit and an apt description of our group.

    We have covered books such as The DaVinci Code, My Sister’s Keeper, Deafening, The Three Mrs. Parkers, and The Devil in the White City to name a few. We have met in each other’s homes and occasionally in a bookstore. For The Devil in the White City, we attended a slide show at a local library that covered the World’s Fair and had a discussion afterwards.

    Our backgrounds are diverse: a former assistant director of a non-profit agency, two college instructors, librarian, a medical records technician, an accountant, a former legal assistant, teachers, an insurance agent, and a former computer programmer. BookHands fills a social niche for the ten of us because we are scattered geographically and often spend our days caring for little ones or at work communicating with those who can hear. To be able to combine a love of books and discuss them in an accessible medium allows for comfortable group dynamics. We certainly have the option of joining a local book club and using interpreters, but the group dynamic and communication style simply would not compare. With each book selection, we are learning more about each other’s lives and we are also being introduced to books that we might not have picked up otherwise.

    And of course, you can’t beat the chocolate desserts!

  • No, I Just Haf A Cowd, Dank You

    Yesterday, I stopped in at the bank that I always patronize and got in line behind a new teller. As I was waiting, I tallied up the checks that I wanted to deposit and didn’t realize that it was suddenly my turn. The teller must have said something, as I noticed her gazing at me with a puzzled expression.

    Most of the time, I will offer an explanation to people with a simple, “I didn’t hear what you said. I’m deaf.”

    But yesterday wasn’t a nicey-nice day. I was in a hurry to head out of the bank and cranky as heck. I was craving some chocolate Sno Caps to stave off the major PMS symptoms that were gnawing at me. Or perhaps some Fannie May… Or Godiva chocolate…

    New Teller Gal asked me a question and I thought she asked me how I wanted my money. “Twenties would be fine.” I responded. She actually laughed and repeated her original question, which turned out to be, “Do you have any ID?”

    Any other day, I would have explained, “I’m deaf,” but yesterday, the PMS beast inside of me growled. “I’ve been a customer for almost ten years and I’ve submitted a check deposit slip with my name and address on it. My purse is in the car and the hubby is waiting outside. Can you process this without ID?”

    Apparently my speech isn’t crystal clear. She gazed at me and suddenly asked, “Are you sick?”

    There were several other customers behind me. Ahem, is this the kind of question you ask customers? I quickly debated whether I was going to give her an explanation.

    No dearie. What you hear is a result of several years of speech therapy and diminished hearing. Very diminished hearing, my dear. As in deaf.

    Hmmm, I could add a little more nasality on the end and finish the sentence with a florish…

    ….deeaaaafffff.

    I could sit back and watch her take a few IQ points off if I miss any more questions that she fires off…

    Instead, I smile sweetly and say, “Oh yeah, I have a nasty cold.”

    And I remember to wipe my nose just before I hand her the pen back.

  • It’s No B.S. Mom, I Love You Too!

    I grew up in a family with five generations of hearing loss. My Great-Grandmother, Grandmother, my mom and all of her siblings were deaf or hard of hearing and none of them knew sign language. All of my siblings have hearing loss as well as my children and one niece.

    My mother’s hearing began to decline in her twenties. All of my brothers and sisters were born hearing and one by one, we each lost our hearing. My oldest sister was three years old when she fell, hit her head and instantly became profoundly deaf. My parents sent her off to live with my aunt and she attended Central Institute for the Deaf, an oral school. My brother Dennis was 36 years old when a wooden beam fell on him at work and he woke up in the hospital two days later with a severe hearing loss. My sister Jeanie began to lose hearing in her 20’s and just last summer, she slipped on a rug and became profoundly deaf. My brother Kenny has just recently began to wear hearing aids for a mild loss that was caused from a fall while barefooting.

    I came along 10 years after the last sibling was born. When I was five, I was diagnosed with a moderate to severe hearing loss. I muddled along in school, receiving a hearing aid in 4th grade and speech therapy. Because I “functioned” so well and was able to keep up my grades, I was pretty much lost in the system. Teachers lavished praise on the “girl with the hearing loss.” My loneliness was often overlooked.

    My life stayed this way all through my school years. I made friends with a select few who could look beyond my hearing loss. In high school, I met another girl, Shawn, who also wore hearing aids and we became fast friends. We each shared the horror of dealing with group situations and the anxiety that came with it. We learned to adapt so well that some of our friends had no clue that we wore hearing aids.  (I never wore my hearing outside of school or during the summer.) Of course, we missed out on the punch lines of many jokes while laughing along with the others.

    When I began attending classes at the local community college, I started to fear that I had no future ahead of me. I had interviewed for several jobs, but no one had the courage to hire me or deal with my inability to use the phone. I took one job as a dishwasher at a local restaurant and earned money mostly by babysitting. The future began to look pretty bleak. The few guys that I dated weren’t good marriage prospects. I began to wonder just where I was headed.

    On a whim, I decided to transfer to a college that had a program for deaf and hard of hearing persons. My mother reluctantly supported my decision. She was afraid to see her last baby go off to the great unknown. How in the world would I cope at a university when I could barely get by at the community college?

    Just before going off to college, I was water skiing on my bare feet and I turned to cross the wake. I fell hard, and for the next few days, I kept feeling like I had water in my ear. I had become profoundly deaf.

    Going off to college turned out to be a blessing. At first, it was quite a culture shock. I was living on a co-ed floor with people who signed so fast that it was intimidating. Little by little, I was transformed. Slowly, I was introduced to a Deaf life to the point it felt like “coming home.” I was in a world where hearing didn’t matter. It was a world where, if I missed the punch line of a joke, someone would kindly sign it over again until I could join in the laughter. Of course, occasionally I encountered: “Sorry, train gone!”

    My mother and siblings began to see a new person blossom in front of them. I introduced them to a TTY, and a new, accessible world began to open for them. My mom admitted that she wished she had known more about sign language while we were growing up so that we could have had access to interpreters.

    When my oldest son became deaf, my mom began to ask how to sign certain things. It made me smile to see my 70-year old mom signing to my kids. One of her favorite signs was the sign for “I love you,” which is made with the thumb, forefinger and pinky finger extended and the two middle fingers bent downward.

    Every time we got into the van to leave to go home, Mom would flash her “I love you” sign. There was only one problem though…

    Mom would occasionally forget and leave the thumb bent inward, which turned the sign into “B.S.”

    It is quite a picture to see Mom flashing her “B.S.” sign when we are pulling out of the driveway. It always puts a smile on my face.

    It’s no B.S., Mom. I love you too!