Photo by: Deaf RED Bear

I invited a CODA friend, Tracy Schaffer, to share her stories and poems (below) for Mother Father Deaf Day today (the last Sunday in April). Tracy writes a story of how important it was for her to come across a certain “hearing” role model, Mrs. Corn, as a CODA child. We, as a deaf community often emphasize the importance of deaf children having deaf role models. I found it equally noteworthy that CODA children also have the same need for a role model like themselves.

Thank you Tracy for opening your heart and sharing your stories with us! Enjoy!

My name is Tracy Schaffer. I’m a CODA. My parents, Jeannie (DeVine) Schaffer and my dad, Wayne Schaffer, went to OSD (Oregon School for the Deaf) in the 1930s and ’40s. My sister, Connie, went to OSD in the ’70s and ’80s. On my dad’s side, his sister was deaf (Mabel Wood) and her 3 sons also deaf (David, Edward and Robin.) Ed has 2 deaf children, Tim and Sophia. My mom’s brother has 2 deaf daughters, Kellie and Jill. Kellie has deaf son and Jill has a deaf son. My sister Sue (h/h) has a deaf daughter, Missy, and Missy has a deaf son. (Typical coda response.)

Below is an essay I wrote in 2004, shortly after I had moved across the US to live in Maryland. My heart was breaking.

“Grade school was not an easy time for me. Back then, nobody understood how difficult it was to come from a home with deaf parents. English was a second language. I didn’t know idioms, didn’t know nursery rhymes or many childrens stories, didn’t know the customs of hearing people, and I was used as an interpreter for my parents from the time I was very small. Just by the virtue of having normal hearing, I was placed in adult situations where I had no business being.

I came to school in homemade clothes and brought my sack lunch, including coins wrapped in foil to pay for milk everyday. Kids were always making fun of the way I was dressed, teasing me because I didn’t get hot lunch, and because I got only one milk ticket at a time. I got into fights defending my “deaf and dumb” parents and how I must get away with everything because they couldn’t hear me. Actually, my mom was hypervigilant about my behavior. I also knew how smart my mom was, having spent hours on spelling drills and doing math problems. She impressed me with calculations in her head, and spelled everything correctly!)

When I got to school, the library was my place to escape. I was a voracious reader and a budding writer. Mrs. Corn was the library lady. She and I developed a sort of friendship. We had conversations about characters in books, kids in school who were mean and were bullies, and she taught me how to research topics, encouraging me to get my own library card at the public library and teaching me all about the Dewey Decimal System. I like to think that Mrs. Corn was the person who began steering me in the direction of loving school and encouraging my love of reading and writing.

Mrs. Corn seemed to light up when I came to the library. She had a smile for everyone. She always had time to talk with me, and never once asked me about my deaf parents or how fascinating it must be to use sign language. She cared about me just for me. It was one of the first times in my life I remember having an identity all my own…not the daughter of, or the sister or cousin. (The deaf world is very small, and people are always identified by their relatives or where their parents went to school.)

I didn’t have many “educated” hearing adults who talked with me on a regular basis other than my teacher. Mrs. Corn always said hello to me and smiled. I was extremely drawn to people who were interested in me and what I was doing rather than treating me as an assistive device for my parents. I trusted Mrs. Corn, there is no doubt. It was in my trust of her that my understanding of the hearing world expanded, and with it, my ability to navigate my way through the written words hearing people wrote.

I really don’t remember a lot of Mrs. Corn’s personal habits or her perfume, if she wore any. I was a child, after all. I don’t ever remember her telling me she had daughters my age, or that her husband taught high school math. I found out those things when I went to high school several years later and made friends with her oldest daughter, and passed Mr. Corn in the hallways.

A few months ago, I talked with Mrs. Corn’s younger daughter, who told me her mom had cancer. It made me very sad, and I thought often of what I “should” say to Mrs. Corn…how important she had been in my life, and how grateful I was for her influence.

I didn’t visit, and I didn’t call. Mrs. Corn passed away recently, and my biggest regret is that I didn’t get to tell her how I felt about her. I know Mrs. Corn knows now, and hears the sorrow in my heart. I know she forgives me for my humanity…my procrastination…and my fear.

In these moments, I am reminded to do it now. People who make a difference in my life, who are wonderful to me even when I don’t deserve it, need to hear that I love them. Now. Not later, not when it’s convenient. Later never comes. Tomorrow is the future. All we have is now.”

* Mrs. Corn passed away on July 27, 2004.

Here’s another poem I wrote about my dad:

Posted by LaRonda on Sunday, April 29th, 2007 at 7:00 am.