From Hand to Hand, and Heart to Heart
As you approach my standard American home, everything seems normal until you press the doorbell, and, rather than hear the chimes through the hallway, you see flashing lights in various rooms around the house. In my home, we speak with our hands, hearts, and facial expressions. I am a CODA—a child of deaf adults. On any typical standardized test, there is always that one question that causes me to hesitate before filling in the bubble—my first language. After pondering the technicalities, I often submit to the “English and another language at the same time” option. After all, American Sign Language and English have always been the predominant languages in my household.
On Christmas Eve of 2000, I found myself standing in the living room frightened by the sight of my sickly diabetic grandmother lying unconscious on the couch. The dial-tone ringing from the phone in my hands begged for those three digits, but I simply couldn’t muster up the courage to dial them. With my parents by my side, I felt frightened and wondered why I always seemed to be responsible for these very “adult” moments. A frightened nine-year-old, I had to communicate all I knew about my grandmother’s medical history to the Fire and Rescue operator and the paramedics once they arrived to my house. This event put into perspective what I had, for nine years, struggled with—the fact that I was, and am, my parents’ ears and voice.
As the eldest child in my family, I’ve always considered myself to have matured very early in life—I really had no option. To me, however, this always seemed normal. In restaurants, I’ve always been the one to greet the waiters and relay orders. In school, I often attended the parent-teacher conferences as an interpreter. These responsibilities have been overwhelming, but have shaped my character strategically and luckily have molded me into a unique person I couldn’t have become in a different situation. Always the interpreter and communicator, I generally took on the role of being my younger brother’s secondary guardian—the “hearing parent.” The dependence on my eyes, ears, fingers, and voice at home has shaped my character tremendously. Because of my unique family, I have learned patience and kindness. I am constantly fighting frustrations and stereotypes, which contribute to a somewhat self-conscious and defensive aspect of my personality. Both the strengths and weaknesses of my character, however, make me an excellent addition to large communities because there are things that I can both teach to and learn from the new people I meet.
My family has never been anything but normal to me. The deaf community has been a part of my life since I was born, and I have been equally submerged in both worlds as time has passed. My parents and their deaf friends form a group of people that may very well be some of the greatest people I have ever met. In my family, there is no such thing as “deaf and dumb.”
Often enough, I am asked whether or not I am going to “grow up” and become an ASL interpreter. Although I did consider this career for a portion of my time in high school, I have ultimately decided to become a Nurse Practitioner. Being a Nurse Practitioner allows me to juggle the things I treasure most in this life—my fascination with biology and the human body, the ability to work with people, and the opportunity to use my hands to help others. My upbringing as a CODA has ultimately influenced these passions within me, encouraging me to work with my hands and my heart, and to surround myself with people from all walks of life day-in and day-out.
