The next day at the CCD Congress, I decided to skip one of my workshops, choosing instead to walk around the enormous convention hall and look at the booths. I just wanted to blend in, to be lost in a crowd and not be singled out. I wanted to feel a part of the normal whole, and not a broken piece. I wanted to belong. And so, I wondered among the throngs of people in the great lobby. My hearing disability was invisible.
I stopped at one booth in particular that was selling folk music for church liturgies. Before losing my hearing, I had been very involved in the folk group at my church. I frequently added my own harmonies to the regular music we sang, and the church community responded enthusiastically. They would approach me after mass and compliment my voice and harmonics, commenting on how much my vocal talent inspired them. It was humbling and heavenly.
At this music booth, I picked up a book that had lyrics and guitar chords to many folk songs from the 70′s. This book was filled with music I had grown up listening to, both in church and on the radio. I still had Grammie Lee’s guitar at home and wondered if I could, in spite of my hearing loss, still plunk out the chords to some of these tunes. I decided to buy the songbook regardless, just so I could remember the words to these songs.
Ever since I had lost my hearing, I noticed I was starting to forget lyrics to some of my favorite melodies. At times, I was unable to recall how a certain verse or chorus sounded. People who have lost a spouse, parent or someone they love sometimes worry, that over time, they may fail to remember what that person looked like, or how their voice sounded. This was how I felt about music and lyrics. I was afraid I would forget. I was not ready to stop thinking about music even if I could no longer hear it. So, I decided to buy this songbook to help me remember.
I handed the bookseller a twenty-dollar bill. I very rarely gave exact change anymore to pay for things since I usually couldn’t hear what the cashier said. I learned later that carrying larger bills is quite common for deaf people because of the inability to hear the exact cost if there is no cash register display to show the total. To this day, I often have to empty my wallet of all the unused spare change that accumulates there and prevents me from zipping it closed.
I hurried to buy myself some lunch and sat down alone in a long, tunneled passageway with my new book of folk songs. I was very excited! It was like sitting down with a letter from a long distance lover. Engrossed in the lyrics and verses, I was oblivious to any passers by. I was flooded with memories of melodies from the past. I could almost hear them. I imagined myself “hearing” again. I slipped away in my mind to another place… another time… where I could sing those soft, simple sonatas, hear those sweet, melodious airs, and float on every harmonic note. For the moment, my heart was full.
My final workshop that weekend was about leading church liturgies in a very unique way – by dancing them. The speaker taught us the value of getting the parish community physically and visually involved in the mass, rather than to hold them captive as pew-sitters bound by tradition. It was the most unusual class I had taken so far. This educator was thinking out of the box and this inspired me.
In this workshop, my spirit danced as my body floated around the room with the other participants. No one knew I could not hear, as I followed the visual rhythm of those around me. I had become a chameleon and discovered the art of blending in. It was a new coping skill and I felt empowered!
My name is LaRonda Zupp.
I am Deaf. Welcome to
"The Ear of My Heart."
