When learning any language, we start with the basics, introducing ourselves, explaining where we live, etc. Then we begin to learn the names of things so we can ask for them. All of this is fairly straightforward. But when we learn a new language, we’re normally doing it for ourselves, for travel or to communicate with a native speaker. We’re not usually learning it in order to teach a child his or her first language.
While pointing and naming is all well and good, children ask why things are the way they are. It’s practical. How do we know the difference between the consequences of stealing a cookie versus running out into the middle of a busy intersection? Hopefully not by experience. Obviously, the consequences of getting hit by a car was something I learned to communicate to Alex early on. But what about the more innocent stuff?
Why is the sky blue? How do wireless electronics work? Why is this Russian/Korean/Indian show on my laptop but it’s not on TV, like The Price is Right is? (He watches shows from all over the world; spoken language is of no consequence to him.) I have no way to answer many of his questions, short of becoming completely fluent in Sign Language. The closest place to receive such an education is in Toronto (Ontario, Canada), which is too far to commute to, to take classes I have neither the time nor the money for at the moment.
I might have advanced my education more after Alex was born, but the courses in Ottawa only went to a certain level. On top of that, we lived in the Province of Quebec – a province that has its own Sign Language (Langue des signes du Québec). Finding a professional to teach Alex American Sign Language in Quebec was next to impossible, and the only Deaf school for children in Ottawa teaches LSQ. So we packed up and moved to Ontario, to a city with a school whose primary language is ASL.
I do hope to learn more Sign someday. For now, I’m doing the best I can with help from his teachers.
My A to Z theme concerns the joys and challenges of being the hearing mother of my Deaf son, Alex. To learn more about his beginnings in life, click here to go to my first A to Z entry.
My A to Z theme concerns the joys and challenges of being the hearing mother of my Deaf son, Alex.
When I discovered Alex was Deaf, I knew I would have to learn Sign Language. However, there was no point starting a formal education too early. I knew from experience that if you don’t use a language, you lose it pretty quickly. So in lieu of classes, I devised a few logical signs of my own. I think the first I ever taught him, before he came home from the hospital at the age of eight months, was to let him know when I was leaving and coming right back. I simply held my index finger up as I walked out the door. When I was leaving for the evening, I waved goodbye so he would know the difference. It didn’t take long before he needed to know why people were exiting his room; he began to cry whenever a nurse left, even for a moment. “Just a second” was the first of many I would have to teach the nursing staff over the years. I found the signs for “mom” and “dad,” and a few others so I could add to both my vocabulary and that of the people caring for him in the hospital when I couldn’t be there myself.
Even now, fifteen years later, it’s necessary to teach the nursing staff how to sign whenever he stays in the hospital. And not just one nurse, because signing is usually the last thing they have time to relate to each other when they change shifts. They normally have 15 minutes to go through the medical history and changes of all the patients on the floor. If Alex is admitted for a few days, there’s a fair bit of staff rotation. When a hospital is close to a border, such as the Ontario/Quebec border in Canada, the staff are expected to be bilingual, yet there is no provision for teaching hospital staff Sign Language. At the very least, it should be mandatory to have a reference book on every floor. I had to buy one of my own and lend it, always hoping it would come back home after Alex’s stay.
For a child without diverse medical needs, this would only be a problem occasionally. For us, it’s an ongoing concern. I honestly don’t understand why it’s not mandatory to teach Sign in schools. If you follow my A to Z, you may agree with me by the time the end of April gets here that they should.
The first time I heard Yellow Ledbetter, I absolutely loved the music. The lyrics, on the other hand, I would sing for years before I finally looked them up on the internet. In the meantime I, like probably millions of people around the world, sang in the car at the top of my lungs (when I was alone) what I thought they were.
Here they are:
“Yellow Ledbetter” Pearl Jam
Unsealed on a porch a letter sat.
Then you said, “I wanna leave it again.”
Once I saw her on a beach of weathered sand.
And on the sand I wanna leave it again. Yeah.
On a weekend I wanna wish it all away, yeah.
And they called and I said that “I want what I said” and then I call out again.
And the reason oughta’ leave her calm, I know.
I said “I know what I was the boxer or the bag.”
Ah yeah, can you see them out on the porch? Yeah, but they don’t wave.
I see them round the front way. Yeah.
And I know, and I know I don’t want to stay.
Make me cry…
I see… Oh I don’t know why there’s something else.
I wanna drum it all away…
Oh, I said, “I don’t, I don’t know whether I was the boxer or the bag.”
Ah yeah, can you see them out on the porch? Yeah, but they don’t wave.
But I see them round the front way. Yeah.
And I know, and I know. I don’t wanna stay at all.
I don’t wanna stay. Yeah.
I don’t wanna stay. [x2]
I don’t… Don’t wanna, oh… Yeah. Ooh… Ohh…
Now that you’ve read them, here is the song… with one of the most priceless sets of misheard lyrics I’ve ever come across. After you’ve watched/listened to the video, let me know which set you prefer.
My A to Z theme concerns the joys and challenges of being the hearing mother of my Deaf son, Alex.
Though Sign Languages are as different as spoken languages worldwide, one thing is consistent; they all rely heavily on body language and facial expression. I’ll never forget the first time I was shown the sign for “not yet.” I actually laughed at my teacher, thinking he was joking. There was a mortifying moment. “Not yet” is exactly the same hand-sign as “late,” only with the tongue stuck out. (For a visual: http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-signs/n/not-yet.htm ) Anyway, by the time my son Alex started to learn American Sign Language I pretty much had my own face and body under control. Unless I’m angry, which is another story altogether. But when we go out in public, the results of people doing things without realizing it can range from amusing back to mortifying. For me. Alex has a blast.
For instance, almost any time I take him out, someone speaks to him. He’s a very engaging little boy. He smiles at people all the time. Invariably they ask him questions, and when they do, they smile back and usually nod their heads because they’re asking a positive question that they want him to agree to:
“Are you looking forward to going back to school?”
“Do you like Spiderman?” (Because he’s always either holding or wearing something to do with Spiderman.)
Alex sees them nod and smile and he nods back. He doesn’t need to hear the question. Which always puts me in the awkward position of having to decide whether or not to tell them he’s Deaf. Unless they ask him another question to which he would have to answer, for instance, “How old are you?” I don’t tell them. Why not, you ask?
People are embarrassed when they get caught talking to a Deaf person. It’s like they feel like they’ve suddenly made a fool of themselves simply by being friendly. When there comes a point at which I have to explain that the reason he’s not talking to them is he’s deaf, they either:
a) say, “Oh,” and walk away, pretending they didn’t speak to us in the first place;
b) say, “But he can lip-read, right?” because obviously he knew what they asked him. He answered the way they wanted him to! (I then say, “Yes, a little,” to ease their minds);
or c) whisper to me, “I’m sorry.” Depending on how I’m feeling on that particular day, I’ll either, say, “That’s okay, he’s just happy to interact,” or, “That’s okay,” and think to myself, Don’t feel guilty about it. It’s not your fault.
I sometimes wonder if, on some level, people know he has a good idea of what they’re thinking. Much of our body language is unconscious. We know we’re doing it, but we don’t always know when, or whether or not we’re controlling it well. And if that doesn’t make you feel self-conscious around a Deaf person, I don’t know what will.
Alex’s ability to read expressions gets embarrassing when he laughs at people. And he does, loudly and with great delight. Take, for instance, a scenario in which you’re out for dinner with someone you’re trying to impress, and you put something in your mouth that you discover you don’t like. You’re turning green at the gills but you’re trying to downplay it, so you grin and bear it while you continue to chew and swallow the offending piece of food. Meanwhile, at the next table, there’s a kid absolutely killing himself with laughter at the subtle expression you’re trying to cover up, while his mother, red in the face, attempts not to giggle at her offspring’s reaction.
All I can really do is try to distract him. I can’t say to the person, “He’s Deaf, and you look like you just put a live bug in your mouth.” It’s amazing how quickly people cease to be charmed by him in these situations. And they happen all the time. Of course I try to explain to Alex that it’s rude to laugh at people, but first, my vocabulary isn’t fantastic in Sign, so when he asks why, I’m at a loss. And second, how can I explain to him that he needs to suppress this wonderful ability to read subtleties that goes flying over the heads of most of the population? So I take it case-by-case and do my best to make everyone happy.
It was a question I and a few friends in high school used to like to ponder. It came up after an interesting discussion in one of my classes. We used to love to distract the teacher with such things – this particular discussion was about how you describe what is real, and how you prove it. One example was, if you’re talking on the phone with someone, how do you prove they’re real. You can’t see them. You can hear them, yes. But are they really there?
This makes actually far more sense now than ever before. What is “real” is far more a relevant question in light of the internet. We have Nigerian Prince-bots and people claiming to be someone they aren’t in order to lure people into bad situations every minute of every day. We can talk on the phone without being home: are we always honest about where we are? I’m not – at least not when my mother is on the other end of the line half the time. (Shhhh. Don’t tell her. I can’t edit.)
The wind. The wind is real. But it’s hard to describe.
It’s a scary world out there, and I believe it’s getting scarier. This reality changes our personal realities: or does it? If, when you were a child, you knew that nothing outside your front door could hurt you, and you walked freely, it meant that you were confident. If now you can’t step out the door without fearing your neighbours will assault you, it changes your level of confidence. Does your reality change your nature? Would it depend on how much time you spent in the wrong environment?
I feel nauseous just typing the name. But I’ve stayed quiet long enough. I find I have no choice but to speak out. Why, you ask? I realize the chances of changing the mind of anyone who is determined to put him in office is slim to none. But there are people out there whose voices might be heard. My ultimate plea is to those who can make a difference. Also, I feel by not saying anything, my silence in a way condones the possibility that my children and grandchildren will live in a far less free world than I have enjoyed.
I am Canadian. Let’s get that out of the way right now. I have no say in who becomes President of the United States. That is up to the conscience of the society south of my home’s border. But the fact is, the fateful decision to elect this man President will not affect only those within the U.S.’s borders. It will affect the entire world. Today’s events in Brussels and his reaction to them have magnified that.
Today he said he would close the borders; one assumes he means if he was in charge. On the surface, keeping outsiders out is a simple solution to a complex issue. Yet his talk of walls creates fear and encourages bigotry far more than it serves to protect. I know there are legitimate fears. But how do we fight fear? By being brave and standing together. Not building walls and hiding within them, never letting anyone else in. Just hours ago, he tweeted, “Time & time again I have been right about terrorism. It’s time to get tough! ” When he claims he will torture and kill the families of terrorists, and when he talks about waterboarding, he sanctions the very same methods of terror that the terrorists are using: violence to get a point across. He is attempting to turn America into a personification of himself: a cowardly, narcissistic little man who acts with great bravado until he is told he’s wrong. Then he lashes out. A true narcissist has no compassion. Anyone who stands in his way, whether they are Muslim, Canadian, or American, will be crushed. A true narcissist thinks the only thing that is “great” is himself. Make America great again, indeed.
The history books are filled with the results of propaganda such as that he spews, but again and again we forget history. Or we ignore it. And again and again we repeat it. In the next few days I will be writing a book review of Ken Follett’s “Century” trilogy. I was never big into history myself – I’d never go out of my way to learn it. But what I have learned by reading this historical fiction chills me to the bone. The parallels between the social unrest and widespread poverty in Germany leading up to the ELECTION of Hitler are, well, enough to make me come out of the political closet and write this article.
Today, while the present leaders of the world are pulling together their populations, and saying that while they will fight such terror as was perpetuated in Brussels, and earlier in Turkey and France among so may other places, they are also telling us not to allow the terrorists to bring us over to the side of hate. They are saying we need to look beyond the colour of our skin and our religious beliefs, and stand together regardless of our nationalities. The alternative is to fear those who are different, and build walls to keep them out.
Hatred begets hatred: two negatives do not make a positive. We teach our children this. Can we learn it ourselves? I hope we can, before it’s too late.
I have to buy Easter eggs for next weekend to hide, for my youngest son to find. It’s going to be interesting this year with the puppy, making sure the right being finds the eggs. Apparently chocolate isn’t good for dogs anymore. I used to give it to my mother’s poodles all the time – no one told me not to. It didn’t seem to cause them any problems.
I must be a terrible mother. I hate deadlines to start with, but holiday deadlines are the worst. Easter, Christmas, birthdays… even getting ready for the day after Labour Day when the kids go back to school is a huge chore for me. I think it’s because I put so much pressure on myself to get it done. It’s more the stress of knowing I have to do it than actually having to do it. Shopping, that is. I really can’t stand shopping. But not as much as I hate deadlines.
I got egged once. You know how sometimes kids go around and egg cars at Hallowe’en? Well one Hallowe’en night when I was a teenager – it might have been either the last or the second-last year I went out trick or treating – I sat down on the curb to have a rest and a car came by and someone threw an egg out the window and hit me square in the middle of the forehead. Luckily I was close to home – I went and got changed and went back out again.
I have no idea where I was going with that story. But there it is.
This post doesn’t feel very much like Stream of Consciousness. I think I’m too stressed over the eggs. I wish there was a way to get out of my mind once in a while, you know?
Whether you spell them “hiccups,” “hiccoughs,” or “damnit-I-wish-they’d-go-away,” they’re a plague upon the existence of mankind. They can be embarrassing: I’ve dealt with them as a receptionist at a busy magazine company, (when you have to answer the phone, they’re sure to be the loudest) and whilst buying booze. Try walking up to a cashier with a bottle of wine and the hiccups, and you’ll know what I mean.
And they’re always annoying. No matter how slowly you count to ten whilst holding your breath, they can last for hours. The moms reading this will probably remember having a hiccuping baby in their bellies… cute at first, but not at 3am. I’ve heard horror stories of people having them for days! Can you imagine?
So how do we make them stop? Everyone has their “sure-fire way” to end the hiccups, but mine is by far the best. Only one drawback – you need a friend to help. The ONLY absolutely reliable way to get rid of the hiccups is, drink an entire glass of water with your fingers in your ears. I promise, it works every single time.
If you don’t have a friend, the other way that works is, stand on your head and sing the “Star-Spangled Banner” while juggling three oranges with your feet. At least that’s what I heard.
About a month ago I was approached on Goodreads, completely at random, by a man (I think it’s a man – the name s/he uses is genderless) who was looking for people to give his novel away to in exchange for an honest review. I thought about it for a while. I looked up the book on Amazon and saw it already had a few good reviews, and then I accepted on the condition he wasn’t in too much of a rush. He said fine.
A couple of days ago I started reading it, but I was struggling. The story itself is so-so, but the writing is horrible. At least by my standards. Yes, I know, I’ve been at this editing thing for so long that I’ve started mentally editing every single thing I read. I’m critical to a fault. But really… the writing is bad. So I did what any decent author who doesn’t want trashy reviews of her own work would do, and I emailed the author, telling him he needed an editor. Because he said he’d just received a bad review, I suggested he pull his novel, fix it, and put it back up for sale. Along with a few examples I gave him on what he could improve, I gave him the choice that I, a) keep reading and give the best review I can, b) stop reading and forget about it, or, c) put it down and start again after he altered it.
He chose to leave it as is, and said thanks, but no thanks. Just delete it from my files.
Now here’s my dilemma: to write bad reviews for novels written by independent authors or not? I’m not talking necessarily about the aforementioned one, though it has crossed my mind that maybe I owe it to the public to let them know what they’re potentially spending $5.99 on, (yes, $5.99 for a first time author’s unedited novel) but in general. How does one author crush another author’s dream? And it really is crushing. Bad reviews for an unknown, independent author can, and probably will, mean no sales.
You may say that there’s always something positive to comment on, but if I only mention the good stuff, it’s my own reputation on the line. Say, for instance, I write in my review, “A fast-paced, thrilling ride full of twists and turns! I couldn’t wait to get to the end to find out what was going to happen!” but on the way to the end, the reader who took my review to heart comes across a line that should have read, “She turned to look out the windshield,” but that actually reads, “She threw her face at the windshield,” (an actual line from the book I was reading). Is that reader going to think I missed such a painfully painful detail? And if so, is the reader going to avoid my novels like the proverbial plague?
It’s been bothering me all day, this dilemma. It’s a question of morals, compassion, and self-preservation in regards to my career. I won’t review this particular book, but the situation is bound to arise again, unless I decide to just stop writing reviews, or only write them for good books.
What would you do? Or, as a reader, what do you wish I’d do?
I have a week off without my youngest son. Balls of fun, right? Yeah, except I have so much to do I’m stuck with what-do-i-do-first-itis. You know that feeling, right?
So I was going to sit down and start reading SoCS posts this morning with my coffee. But then I thought, I don’t really want to do that before I write my own, because then I’ll know what everyone else is writing about and I’ll try to avoid those topics. And how many topics can you come up with from the word, “ball”? I suppose there are a few.
Like the puppy’s, for instance.
Winston
I’m thinking about getting him neutered. He’s started humping on a daily basis, pretty much anything he can get his front legs wrapped around. Which is natural. But before it gets to be too much I’m going to have to make a decision. I still have time – he’s only four and a half months old. But I hesitate, first, because he’s already been through major surgery and I don’t want to put him through it again, and second, because he’s such a good-natured, laid-back animal that I think the world deserves more like him. Would I find anyone who would want to mate their bitch with him? He who is a mix of beagle, possibly basset hound, and only god knows what else? Maybe not. I should probably look into classifieds for that sort of thing. But who would look for stud services and where would they look? Craigslist comes to mind…
Dating sites for dogs?
I can see it now: Bitch wanted. Must have shots.
Stud Muffin for hire – his name is actually Muffin.
Wanna get lucky tonight? Look at these puppies.
Well-hung and energetic. What? I was talking about my jowls?
Wanted: tail. Prefer long and fluffy.
Okay, you get the picture. We’re here ’til Thursday. Try the veal. Milk bone for dessert…
lindaghill.com 