deafness

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Deaf Fest

As I was watching Crip Camp (2020) for this class, I was reminded of one of my favorite childhood memories. My mom was a special educator for the Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing for around 25 years. She used to teach in the city schools of Brooklyn, and began working in Baltimore City when my family moved from New York to Maryland. My mom was like a second mother to her students. She would often bring hot food to her students around the holidays, crowd-source school supplies, teach her students Latin-dancing, and even would have some of her students over to her house when they were having a rough time at home. I treasured the days that I was able to come visit the classroom and her students. It always made me smile to see how my mom so deeply cared about her kids.

Group of smiling children on a school bus, wearing matching white t-shirts that say "Deaf Fest" in red text. All of the children are holding peace signs up with their hands while smiling at the camera.

One of the things my mom and the other teachers did for the Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing students every year was Deaf Fest. One sunny day at the beach every year, complete with matching t-shirts designed by my mom, grilled hotdogs, hamburgers, pavilion snacks, arts & crafts, and games. The bus ride to the beach was loud and cheerful, and every student was so excited for the festivities to come. The students gave me my sign name during Deaf Fest one year- the letter “S” combined with the sign for “dance”, because I was always dancing around the classroom when I came to visit them. On the bus and in the pavilion, my mom’s students would help me learn sign language by signing to me. Even though I was very young during these years, I could feel the powerful sense of community Deaf Fest brought.

A group of students smiling for a picture with their teacher outdoors. The background is bright green with trees and greenery, with the sun peaking out of the trees.

Although Deaf Fest only happened one day at the end of the school year, I was reminded of the happy memories it brought as I was watching Crip Camp. Nostalgic images of Deaf Fest floated through my mind while I witnessed the ways in which Camp Jened members were seen and supported during camp. I also saw resemblance in my memories of the days spent in my mom’s classroom, how the school system rendered these kids invisible to the hearing world. In my college years, I find myself eternally grateful for being able to experience the joy that Deaf Fest brought to my mom’s students, and I hope that I have the privilege of experiencing that level of community again.

a group of students, some sitting and some standing, posing for a picture with their teacher under a pavilion on a bright and sunny day.
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A Freak of (Un)Nature: On “Unnatural” and “Natural” Bodies

There is nothing I dread more than the confused, shocked, horrified look on people’s faces after I open my mouth and say something incomprehensible to their untrained ears. I feel like I am exposed for the freak of nature that I am. Despite my years and years of preparation in the form of weekly speech therapy sessions and high-tech cochlear implant, I still clumsily navigate the hearing world, where sound reigns supreme, constantly tripping over tasks that seem mundane to most people.

My body, and more specifically, my ears and voice, are seen as something out of the ordinary and freakish that must be covered up as efficiently as possible or put somewhere else where there are “people like me”.

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