Ageless Passions by Karen Putz

Tag: social bluffing

  • You Were Born to Stand Out

    “Mom, can I write all over the wall in my bedroom?”

    My daughter, Lauren, came up with this idea of writing inspirational quotes and pieces from her favorite songs all over her bedroom wall.  After a short discussion, I told her to go for it.  I forgot to consult the hubby on this one.  He was a little taken back when he first stepped in her room and found her writing on the wall, (Do you know how hard it is to paint over permanent marker!!) but after reading some of the inspirations, he agreed it was a good thing.

    Lauren didn’t do the project by herself, she invited others to share their bits of inspiration too.  So of course, my favorite quote went up on the wall.  The kids know it well, I’ve been preaching it to them for several  years now:

    “Why are you trying so hard to fit in when you were born to stand out.”

    — From the movie, “What a Girl Wants.”

    From the time that I first lost my hearing in elementary school, I tried hard to fit in, blend in, and fly under the radar.  I became the Queen of Bluffing— learning how to laugh at the right moment and nod along in conversation– without understanding a thing. I developed elaborate strategies to get through the school day.  “I was spacing out, what’s the homework?” I’d ask the student next to me.  In English class, the teacher had us read paragraphs from a book– I’d count the number of students ahead of me, watch each of them like hawk to see where they finished each paragraph and then when it was my turn, I knew where to start reading.  If there was a discussion, I made sure to chime in with my opinion first, because I couldn’t follow the conversation and I didn’t want to say something that was already said.

    That’s why I always say that going deaf was a blessing. That was the process of learning to accept myself and embrace myself.  That’s when I stopped trying so hard to fit in, and began to celebrate standing out.  God gives each one of us unique gifts and a journey that is like no other, so why would we want to live someone else’s life?

    When my own kids started sporting hearing aids, we picked some “stand out” colors so that there was no mistaking the ornaments perched in their ears.  Lauren and I picked out matching earmolds one year– pink glitter for her and blue glitter for me.  And to my surprise, even after all my efforts of getting my kids comfortable with being deaf and hard of hearing, they still went through their own journey of wanting to fit in, blend in and fly under the radar.  The wild colors were replaced with plain, clear earmolds.  Hair grew over their ears.  I had to learn to back off as a mom and let them experience that.  Soon enough, they became comfortable again in standing out.

    Our kids were born with a different ability, as Lee Woodruff says in her book, Perfectly Imperfect.

    And we should celebrate that difference. But you’ve got to get into a place where you’re really comfortable being deaf/hard of hearing before you can celebrate that difference.  And therein lies the challenge– getting folks comfortable in their own skin.  I think back to my elementary and teen years– I spent way too much time trying to be a poor imitation of a person who could hear instead of the best “me” I could be.    At a recent closing plenary, I shared my journey and the “You were born to stand out,” quote.

    One parent came up to me afterwards.  “I’ve been telling my kid how ‘normal’ he is and that he’s just like everyone else.  He’s miserable being ‘different’ and wants desperately to fit in with others. I’m going home today with your message– and I’m going to celebrate him instead!”

  • Decide That You Want It More Than You Fear It

    How many times have you held back because you feared something?

    I’ve been pondering “fears” lately.  Recently, I received a comment from a reader who is hard of hearing and struggling with anxiety– “Social groups are almost impossible at times,” she relates.   She has agreed to teach a weaving class in her community and is scared that she will have trouble getting through it with the communication challenges ahead of her.

    Boy, oh boy, can I relate.  Social situations, parties, group discussions– they used to strike fear inside of me and sometimes, they still do.   Communication in those situations becomes a rapid-fire ping-pong game– sometimes so fast that the ball is just a blur and you get nothing out of the game.

    I emailed the reader and this is what I shared with her:

    I can understand being scared about teaching the weaving class but let me tell you– you can do this!  At the beginning of the first class, be honest about your hearing loss and explain to the class what you need to make communication happen– that everyone has to face you when talking, to speak a bit slower and that if they need to get your attention– to raise their hand before they speak, etc.  It takes a tremendous amount of courage to do this but the rewards are great– students will adjust and you’ll have better access to communication and be able to share your skills with less anxiety about trying to follow everyone.  Communication is a two-way street but you have to teach others what you need to make that happen.

    In another email I shared:

    It’s ok to be nervous, just don’t let it prevent you from moving forward.  Face your fear head on.  My daughter sent me this picture at a time when I was dealing with some fears so I’m passing it on to you:

    Lauren sent me that photo during Women’s Barefoot Week at the World Barefoot Center.  She had no idea how timely that photo was.  I’ll have to back up a bit to explain.  In March, when I first went down to Lake Conine to learn how to barefoot again, one of the questions that I asked Keith St. Onge was, “Are there alligators in this lake?”

    Yup, that’s right.  I’m not too fond of alligators.  In fact, they downright scare the daylights out of me.  As long as they’re far away with a fence between me and their sharp teeth, I’m good.  When Lauren was in Girl Scouts, she came home with a picture of her holding a baby alligator.  I was very glad that I wasn’t there, or I would have had visions of the taped mouth coming undone and my little girl devored on the spot.   One year, Joe and I took the kids to an alligator attraction and I was happy when we finally left.

    Keith’s response to my question was simply, “Yes, but they don’t bother us.  The boat engine scares them away.”  I wanted to barefoot more than I was scared of the marine life, so off I went into the water.

    Then in the middle of Women’s week, I was sitting in the water after a barefoot run, waiting for the boat to come back and pick me up.   The boat was taking forever to idle back to me.  I turned around and stared into the open jaws of an alligator coming to attack me in the water…

    And then I woke up.

    That’s right, I had a nice little alligator nightmare.  I couldn’t fall back asleep for a long time after that.  The next morning, we did a photo shoot on the water.  I was sitting in the second boat, waiting for my turn on the water.  One of the gals pointed out an alligator swimming by.   The other boat began coming closer and the alligator disappeared.   I tried to put the image out of my mind, because I knew I had to get in the water.

    Come on, Karen, nothing’s going to happen.

    Well, what if I’m the first person to get attacked on this lake?

    Don’t be silly, the alligators are scared of boats, they’ll stay away.

    All too soon, it was my turn to get in the water and my legs were shaky.   I fell on my first attempt to get up and I tried to tumble around to get back up and finally let go.   David Small was driving and he asked me if I was nervous about the photo shoot.  I could only shrug– I wasn’t about to explain my silly alligator fears at that moment.

    Later that morning, I told Keith about the alligator nightmare and he grinned at me.  “Face your fears!” he told me.

    “I face my fears every time I get in the water,” I grumbled at him.  But he was right–when you face your fears, you move beyond them.

    But that night, I had another alligator nightmare.  This time, I was watching the alligator swimming closer to me and I tried to yell at everyone in the boat.  They were talking and laughing and too far away by the time the alligator chomped on me.   And then I woke up.

    Good grief.

    Lauren’s photo came that day.  “Decide That You Want It More Than You Fear It.”  I laughed when I saw the photo– laughed at how uncanny the universe is in delivering nuggets of wisdom into our lives.   She had no idea about the fears I was juggling that week– she simply saw the quote on someone’s Facebook status and decided to turn it into an inspirational picture.

    So the next time you face something that scares you or fears that hold you back from something you want to do, decide that you want it more than you fear it.   The next time I jump into Lake Conine, I’m not going to give alligators a second thought.

  • Are You in the Deaf/Hard of Hearing Closet?

    For many years, I hid in the deaf/hard of hearing closet. I wasn’t comfortable dealing with the lone hearing aid that was given to me in fourth grade. During the school day, I hid the hearing aid under my thick hair and pulled off some impressive bluffing maneuvers. I would smile and nod along to conversations during lunch time and at recess.  I did so well that the teachers often told my Mom that I was getting along “just fine in the classroom despite my hearing loss.”

    When I look back at my early years in elementary education, I know that I had hearing loss long before it was diagnosed. I remember looking around after getting off the monkey bars, only to find all the kids lined up against the wall, ready to go back inside. I was the last kid left on the playground and I learned to calculate the time left at recess so I wouldn’t be the last kid in. I remember the kindergarten teacher coming over to tap me whenever nap time had ended. I quickly learned to watch the kid next to me and when they got up, I got up.

    In second grade, the teacher had a reading session and introduced the book, “Curious George.” I couldn’t get the word “curious.”

    “Erius George,” I repeated after her.

    No, she said. She repeated the word and then went on reading. I stared at the book, seeing the man with the yellow hat and the brown monkey. I had no idea what the book was about or the interactions between the man and the monkey. It wasn’t until I had my first kid and obtained a copy of “Curious George,” that I finally learned what the story was about.

    There are a lot of chunks of my life like that.

    I’m sure to my teachers, I appeared to be doing pretty good in school. In seventh grade, we had a class where we each took turns reading a paragraph out loud. I would calculate the number of students ahead of me, count the paragraphs in the book and figure out where I needed to start reading. Sometimes I would get lucky and see someone close to me reading with their finger on each word and if I listened, I could follow along with the words. Then when it was my turn, I’d start in on the correct paragraph.

    But inside of me, I know my stomach was churning and I was tense in trying to keep up. There were thousands of situations all through the school day, in after-school activities or on the playground where I was hyper-alert in trying to follow it all.

    I’m sure today, there are kids still going through this routine– this coping skill that gets them through the day as “normal” as possible.

    I can remember the day I came out of the deaf/hard of hearing closet. It was actually in college. I rode the bus with my hair pulled back in a pony tail and my hearing aid perched on my ear.

    And I didn’t care.

    For the first time in my life, I didn’t care who saw my hearing aid in public.

    That was a turning point for me.

    Over the years, I’ve met some people walking around with that closet around them.  Any talk about being deaf or hard of hearing is a painful thing. They know that elephant in the room is there and they step aside so they can talk around it.

    One only has to type in “deaf mom” on Google and they’ll quickly learn that Karen Putz and DeafMom go hand in hand. There would be no hiding the fact from a potential employer nor would I even try. Lately, I’ve been receiving emails from other bloggers, who share that they’re hard of hearing or deaf, but they don’t want to highlight that in their blogs for various reasons. Some feel that their hearing status has no bearing on their life. Others feel it’s a sign of weakness and they don’t want to share that.

    “I don’t hide it in person,” says Holly Kolman. “It’s just that the internet is forever.”

    After chatting with Holly, I learned that she had never published anything online about being hard of hearing. She was willing to discuss it for the first time online on this blog.

    “Life with a hearing loss means everything is harder,” she explained. “Almost everyone takes it for granted that people can hear…it’s like expecting someone with normal breathing to understand what asthma feels like–it’s impossible. It is very socially isolating. People think that you’re ignoring them when you don’t answer and they take it personally.”

    Holly recalled that some of her teachers did not understand what she was going through in the classroom. Over the years, they told her, “You hear what you want to hear.”

    I’ve been told that too. 

    In sixth grade music class, we had a test where everyone had to listen to a recording on tape and then write down the beat times.  The teacher noticed that I wasn’t writing anything down.  She tried to explain what I needed to do.  Again, I tried to listen along.  Again, there was nothing for me to write down. 

    The teacher was upset.  To this day, I still remember her words:  “Karen, you need to turn your hearing aid up and listen!” 

    I told my Mom about this incident and she marched to the principal’s office the next day and explained why I couldn’t follow the music.  The principal called in the music teacher and for some reason, he made me issue an apology to her.  I didn’t understand why, but there I was, saying I was sorry.  To substitute for the missed test, I had to write two 500-word essays on the piano and the guitar–over Christmas vacation.  While my friends were enjoying a break, I was writing reports.

    I think we’ve come a long way in terms of awareness, but I think we still have a ways to go to break down those closets that are still walking around out there.

  • Socialization for Deaf and Hard of Hearing Kids

    As I was driving home from the mall today, I watched the six kids in the back as they chatted with each other.  The two high school boys were conversing using mostly their voice, with some signs thrown in.  The three girls were animatedly using American Sign Language. Eyebrows arched, shoulders shrugged and cheeks puffed as they skipped through conversations about residental school, camp and their plans for the night.

    I thought back to a few months ago:  I was at an anniversary celebration of a close friend and she introduced me to her cousin, a mom of a hard of hearing son who was in middle school.  We chatted for a while, I told her about Illinois Hands & Voices and we talked about IEPs.  Then the topic of socialization came up.  I shared my frustrations about our school district–how there were nearly 70 kids with hearing loss and very little connection among the kids.  What she told me next blew me away.  “My son doesn’t have a single friend,” she said.  I saw sadness on her face.  “If he could just make one friend, it would be so much better.”

    I couldn’t get that boy out of my mind.  I grew up being the only hard of hearing kid in school, but I always had several close friends.  I’m always looking for new situations for my kids to meet and connect with other kids, deaf, hard of hearing or hearing.  So when my oldest son received an invitation to swim at a friend’s house a few weeks ago, I drove him over there.

    I chatted with the mom and we talked about school, IEPs and other things.  What she said next, blew me away.  The mom revealed that it was the first time since they moved three years ago that her sons had friends over to their house.  I watched as the group of kids horsed around in the pool with smiles on their faces.  It was hard to believe that this was the first time a group of them had gotten together.

    So today, as I watched the six kids connect with one another, I started to wonder about other deaf and hard of hearing kids and how they’re spending their summer.  How many other kids are spending their summer social bluffing their way through group conversations, as I did?  I had a great group of friends while growing up, but I still managed to be the Social Bluffing Queen when it came to parties and group outings. I didn’t address the social bluffing issue until many years later– after meeting deaf and hard of hearing people and learning what it was like to access group conversations without bluffing through them.   Mark Drolsbaugh, my separated-at-birth-twin has a great series on social bluffing:

    Super Phony

    Super Phony on Spring Break

    The Return of Super Phony

    What will it take, asks Mark, to hang up the Super Phony cape for once and for all?  “There are still too many Super Phonies flying around out there. We’ve got to rein them in and encourage them to live authentic lives,” says Mark.  

    Can it be done?

     

  • 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.

  • Are You a Bluffer?

    Have you ever been caught in a conversation where you weren’t sure what was going on yet you nodded along, laughed along or excused yourself to head to the bathroom?

    Social bluffing. Everyone does it, my neighbors with hearing in the normal range have shared with me. “I’ll be at a party,” says my neighbor Denise, “and I’ll miss something that’s being said or my mind is elsewhere and I’ll just nod along with the conversation.”

    Social bluffing 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. I grew up hard of hearing and it was physically impossible for me to participate in group conversations with school friends, so I learned quickly to bluff my way through conversations just to get through the day.

    I can remember this skill emerging back in second grade, when a group of us gathered around the teacher to read about “Curious George.” The teacher called on me, but I was so enthralled with the pictures of the monkey and the man in the yellow hat, that I had no idea of the monkey’s name or just what the story was about. So I nodded along with the teacher’s question and apparently it satisfied her because she kept on reading and calling on others.

    I continued to bluff my way through school and in high school, I met another student who also had hearing aids. Shawn and I became fast friends in high school. During our senior year, the high school newspaper published a story on us. More than one student came up to us that day and said, “I didn’t know you guys had a hearing loss!” We had bluffed our way through so many situations that others around us didn’t realize how much we actually missed.

    When I transferred to Northern Illinios University in college, I had become deaf just a few weeks before. As I gradually learned to sign, I found myself using the same bluffing skills in an effort to fit in. I nodded along, pretending to understand someone’s signing while desperately trying to soak up the meanings of all the signs. It didn’t take me long to figure out that I couldn’t bluff with my deaf and hard of hearing friends, and I didn’t have to. Once I became proficient, for the first time in my life, I was able to experience full access to a group conversation. Parties took on a whole new meaning. In high school, I would avoid parties and group gatherings, but with my new deaf and hard of hearing friends, I couldn’t wait for the next one.

    It took a long time to acknowledge a lifetime of bluffing and change the way I access communication. As Lenny Kepil says, “It’s a survival skill.” I often employ communication strategies and occasionally ask people to write things down. Communication is a two-way street and today, I’m much more assertive in making sure that communication happens the way I need it to.