12/2/17
“If you want to participate in a choir and you can’t . . .”
I knew what I wanted to say, but the words stopped and I couldn’t say it. This was the fifth or sixth time I had introduced this video, but it was the first time I had taught about this video this year. I didn’t think very much about how I was going to prep this video, because it was something that I had done before successfully.
The video was a performance of “Imagine,” from an episode of Glee. The performance featured a sign language choir and a soloist who was deaf. This video is a great way for students to think about diversity in ability, and to reflect on the meaning of the song.
I wanted to ask the kids to think about how you could be in a choir without being able to hear, and as the word was about to come out, I saw Ethan in my mind. The topic of hearing loss was one that there used to be away from me. Yes, I had taught students with hearing loss, and as much as I cared about these students, I could leave them and my concerns about them at school. The topic of hearing loss was now deeply personal.
I forced the words out and awkwardly got the video introduced. It wasn’t like holding back tears, but it felt close. It was like there was something inside of me that needed to be expressed that I could not, because I didn’t have the words. I was uncomfortable, but I forced a smile of approval as students respectfully and positively contributed to the discussion.
As we watched the video, I put my hands in the pocket of my open zip-up hoodie and slowly hugged myself.
Earlier this week Diana took Ethan to the ENT doctor. He confirmed the information that we knew earlier. It was likely not sensorineural (nerve damage) hearing loss. We would have to wait until around age five to do a cat-scan to get a better idea of what was going on with his ear canal and ear bones (ossicles). This would help us determine if there was any procedures that at that point could use to help him get "normal" hearing in his right ear. There was also the possibility that the bone conductive hearing aid we were going to start with Ethan at six months old, would continue and be implanted.
There were things that we knew for sure, possibilities for the future that were left unknown. There is hope, the knowledge that the worst case scenario is manageable, and the knowledge that there is a whole community of parents with children with similar issues.
All of this is a lot to process. I don’t know if focusing on the glass being half full is helping. It’s the strategy we revert to more often than not. And the whole “part of a plan,” idea, I don’t find any comfort in either right now. The only thing that really makes me feel better about this whole situation is spending time Ethan. While I stood in that classroom, struggling to discuss hearing loss with my students, all I wanted to do was be with my son.
There are many parts of my personal life that I relate to my students to help make more real the topics we are talking about. When the music video for “Imagine,” showed Yoko Ono sitting next to John Lennon, I talked about my wife's Caucasian identity, and how Yoko dealt with racism due to the interracial relationship she had with John. When topics of gender identity come up, I talk about how I don’t fit masculine stereotypes by not watching sports and enjoying to cook. When students know someone related to a topic, it humanizes it, and makes it more meaningful. As teachers we can do this, but it’s only effective if it comes from a level of authenticity, and acceptance.
Someday I’ll tell my students that my own son has hearing loss before I introduce this video. I’ll probably show a diagram of an ear, and describe how the ear works and what doesn’t quite work for my son. Also, I’ll probably talk about his hearing aid and what his condition means to our lives.
I’m not ready for this yet. I don’t even know proper terminology, and all the mechanics. Emotionally, I’m ready to open up to my students about this. We can show emotions to our kids, but they must always be controlled and processed, and right now my emotions related to this issue are not there yet.
Sometimes I talk about this, and I feel fine, and other times, I’m close to crying. I don’t know why, I don’t know when I’m going to be in a different place with this, but I know I’ll get there.
After the class was done watching the video, I asked the class if they had any questions or comments. The students were really interested and excited about the video. One student said that he liked watching this video sign language choir better than the other children’s choir we watched performing this song. We talked more about sign language and when I mentioned sing language for raps songs, they got really excited. So I showed them a clip of a person signing “Guns & Ships.”
Minds were blown, kids interests were peaked, and they all thought this discussion and the idea of diversity in ability in music was really cool. Their reaction confirmed to me that they would accept my son, and that if I were to share his story, they would react positively to it. This gave me hope.
I did this lesson again, five more times that week to my different classes. The introduction was still a challenge but it did get easier, and each time the feeling in the room after we watched the video was really positive. Every time I went through this lesson, and I saw my students acceptance of people with hearing loss in the video, my heart got a little closer to truly accepting and honoring Ethan’s condition. My students will never know this, but they helped me in my process. In a moment of challenge, they comforted my fears, supported my struggle, and gave me hope.
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