All The Young Dudes

Communication: Drivel’s Own Company

I was thinking about Slakbarsted’s article on communication, Talking Out Of Your Arse, which he posted on Division 42, the one that inspired my NEWSFLASH: Deafie Discovers Hearing People Are Drivel Worshippers post, and many thoughts about the subject of communication came to mind. Particularly the various assumptions that people make, and the expectations they hold, of which Deafies and hearies are equally culpable.

I’m not going to discuss in detail what communication is, you can read this Wikipedia article, Communication. Instead, I want to focus on the assumptions and expectations, that people make regarding communication. More pertinently, how geography, social and cultural structures, the relationships we have with other people, and our individual efforts, affect our communications.

This very topic reared its head in a conversation that I had with My Mountain Man, this past Sunday evening. I, who have, an excellent eye, for a decent drink and good company found much merriment with Coopers, Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon. It’s good to be boisterous and raucous, and it’s good to be silent and reflective. Sunday’s sojourn was all of these in a vortex, which culminated in me hitting the pillow at an early 9.30 pm.

Successful communication [or relationships] often depends on how receptive each person is towards the other, rather than just the message itself and the channels used to communicate it.

Personally, my deepest relationships are with My Mountain Man, G.O.D., and the Maltese Falcon. We share common characteristics of being the eldest child, a tendency towards deep thought and reflection, intimacy when bonding and separation when not, and the ability to tune into the other’s wave length through conscious thought or body language. Of course, geography separates us, and of the three, only G.O.D., remains physically distant to me. My relationship with them resonates for reasons of comfort, history, shared interests, a mutual love, and more pertinent, a mutual trust that allows the other to be themselves, without judgement.

Contrary to the general superficiality of online communications, my interactions with G.O.D. are meaningful, for the simple fact that I know her from my time in the UK. Sure, the internet and cyberspace changes how we interact, and the nature of how we interact, which is not physical but virtual, but it does allow us to communicate regularly, and via instant messaging, email, email groups, Facebook, Bebo, Flickr, which allows us a measure of sharing via virtual means support communication in allowing a measure of visual input [in lieu of physical presence]. And because it is all text and images, sound is moot.

On the other hand, my interactions with My Mountain Man and the Maltese Falcon, via the internet and cyberspace are non-existent beyond the obvious email. Traversing geography and distance is the means by which we maintain social and familial [whom I have long since come to regard as family] contact. Of course, them being hearing and me using the terrorphone [telly phone, tell a phone, telephone] less and less as I get older, for keeping in touch between visits. Of course, there is texting via mobile phones, but you know……………..

What I am finding interesting is Slakbarsted’s interactions on Division 42. The post Talking Out Of Your Arse, shows his deafness still impacting on his relationships in the hearing world. But is revelatory in how it illustrates his own assumptions about how hearing people communication [I've had to explain what parking meant once].

I first met Slak, nearly five years ago, at the first get together for the much vaunted, and now extinct, Australian Deaf Chamber Of Commerce [ADCC]. He was on the verge of withdrawing from the Deaf community at the time, because he was having trouble fitting in [finding his niche]. I remember advising him not to be hasty, and to give ADCC a chance. Of course, my ulterior motive was my own agenda for socialising and friendship building. But ADCC died a death, which put paid to that social and professional network.

When I look back, I do wonder whether my intervention merely delayed the inevitable. I wrote about Slak’s decision to get the cochlear implant in On Being Me [But A Mask Is All You'll Ever See], and involvement in the hearing world is the direction his life is taking on more and more. Beyond the occassional visit, my occassional interactions with Slak are confined to blogs, email and texting. A natural outgrowth of his social networking in the hearing world, is the blog he maintains with a group of friends, called Division 42.

I don’t interact with posts and people on Division 42, one because it is primarily a hearing blog [why you will see below], and secondly, because everyone on the blog knows each other, Division 42 is a platform for them to continue their socialisation without being physically present at the same time or in the same space. For me, reading Division 42, is akin to crashing a private party. One of which I am not part I honestly feel like I am an intruder whenever I read that blog. Which is a rather interesting, because another friend of mine made the remark that she would feel violated if certain people [we both know] read her personal blog.

But my summation of Division 42 is that it’s a hearing blog. An observation borne by the feedback to Talking Out Of Your Arse, which by and large ignores Slak’s references to his decision to his getting an implant, and the stories Carrie and David, which he brings to the group as a means of sharing something of himself. Hoping to educate and enlighten his friends, they seize on the buzzwords of motor mouth, drivel, et al in response to his post. Though I do wonder, if Slak is enacting a cyber version of being there, but not quite being part of it all, as he is rarely found in the maelstrom of comments, preferring to moderate and maintain the blog?

I find great irony in a Deafie seeking communication and inclusion amongst hearing people, whose mindset is unmistakably audist. Not so much in their rejection of Slak’s deafness, but in their unquestioning assumption and mindset of the world being a certain way: hearing.

Let’s Read:

My Mountain Man [The Nice Edit]
Merlot
Cabernet Sauvignon

Australian Dating Sites:

Australian Beer
Beer Guide
Australian Wine And Beer
The Australian Good Beer Directory
Foster’s is NOT “Australian for Beer”

Aggregators [Deaf]:

DeafRead
Deaf Village

Social Networking Sites:

Linked In
Linked In [Australia]
Internet Time Community
Facebook
Bebo?
Orkut
My Space
You Tube

Groups:

Yahoo Groups
Google Groups

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The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode Six

I want to finish off this current series of The Oralist’s Melodrama, by regaling you with a spleen venting stoush, that occurred on a Leadership Training Program, run by the Adult Deaf Society of NSW, Australia, all the way back in 1989 [I think]. I was working for the Australian Taxation Office, and I was given a weeks leave to attend a character building, skills enhancing, and work related, away from home social program that only Deafies are so adept at.

I know! I Know! I know! Every professional training session, Deafies go to, invariably includes a president, a secretary, a treasurer, and a committee to organise and raise for the annual Christmas dinner. I roll my eyes at the memory of these hi-jinx. I don’t know if it’s the same now, but back then………….

The program was open to Deafies and deafies alike. So you can well imagine the sideways glances that were cast, as people arrived. And being confused for my younger brother.

It was a Saturday night. It is always a Saturday night. Maybe that’s why Elton John wrote that song, Saturday Night’s Alight for Fighting! Or was it, Saturday arvo? That’s where my memory gets hazy, but I do remember that it involved tears, fears, vented frustrations, and avoidance tactics [such as we were supposed to suddenly understand an oral point of view because they suffered bulimia]. Either way, it was the end of the week. We had one last session scheduled. And we were going home the next day.

The Leadership Program? You want to know more about that? Why? It’s a Leadership Program. They are a dime a dozen. You can find them in the bargain bins at The Reject Shop, or Poundland, or whatever the Yankee equivalent of a two dollar shop is. Ah yes, Wal Mart!

Anyway, to cut a long story short, going by way of Timbucktoo, the basic premise of that afternoon, was an opportunity for the participants to talk about anything at all. Whether it related to the training program itself, vent our spleen, or share something personal with the group.

Share we did.

There was some debate about whether there should have been a qualified counsellor present, maybe, but the group weathered the storm very well. I don’t know of any session where Deaf and deaf people came out of it with a bit more respect for the other. But we did. I don’t recall how the session started or when it became emotional [and it was emotional], and this was probably what some circles didn’t like. But you must appreciate, that at the time, people were just busting to tell their story. To demand a fair hearing. People came out. Oral deafies told their side. Oh all sorts……………… but the thing is, it’s possible for Deaf and deafies alike to exchange emotional vents and survive the experience intact.

Everybody demanded that they be listened to. And they were.

The difference between what happened then, and what happens in cyberspace, is that the Oral deafies owned their experiences, negative or otherwise. They didn’t use the forum to dump those negative experiences on Deaf people, as if somehow it’s all our fault. When I look back on that session, there was some tacit acknowledgment that “maybe” we all suffered a similar fate. That perhaps our difference are the result of hearing ways.

And what’s the other important lesson I have learnt from all these Leadership programs? People’s insatiable capacity for self serving bullshit.

RELATED LINKS:

The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode Five
The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode Four - Two Times, Two Women, Two Countries
The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode Three - A Bedtime Story
The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode Two
The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode One

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The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode FIve

To answer Mike McConnell’s post, More cochlear implant bloggers needed in DeafRead?, no we don’t need more implant bloggers on DeafRead. What we need are more bloggers who actually understand what they are writing about, and not using unadulterated opinion to give backhanders to the Deaf Community using free speech as an excuse.

Since Mike prides himself on his unbiased opinion, perhaps he could answer the following questions for me?

1. Why are all these whinges, whines, and pretence at informed debate, always directed at the Deaf community?
2. Aren’t the deaf community happy with their lot?
3. Why is it that everytime a Deaf space is established, with a specific purpose, and a specific audience in mind, which is by Deaf people for Deaf people, that we Deaf people have to be accommodating and understanding, else we risk being panned as divisive, troublesome, quarrelsome, and judgemental?
4. Why can’t Deaf people have a space without having to cater for the oralies, the implantees, and the various other permutations of not wanting to be Deaf?
5. Why is there a need to dilute the character of Deaf space?
6. Why do Deaf people have to read about cochlear implants? I know where to go if I want correct and biased information, replete with amens, hallelujahs, and banging tambourines.
7. Why aren’t you out there setting up your own aggregators if you are not happy with DeafRead or the state of other Deaf bloggers. Perhaps you can call it deafread [notice the little d].

Sure, come into Deaf space, we do look forward to interacting, bridge building, and what have you, but don’t come proselytizing partisan crap that does nothing to enhance that space.

Yes Mike, to quote you back “..It only takes a few bad apples to spoil the rest of the basketful of good apples to ruin the picture.”

JEEZ!

RELATED LINKS:

The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode Four - Two Times, Two Women, Two Countries
The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode Three - A Bedtime Story
The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode Two
The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode One

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The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode Four - Two Times, Two Women, Two Countries

Like I said in the previous post, I was having the time of my life, and exploring my deafness and Deaf identity. Having  a positive Deaf identity was a big thing, still is, and one that I wholeheartedly embrace. It was in the latter years of my involvement, that I became ambivalent about the fact I speak very well. The more I read and understood Deaf history, the more aware of how persecuted Deaf people were, and how precarious our relationship is with the world at large.

Did this give rise to feelings of guilt, because I had a relatively stress free upbringing, and that I had a good command of language and speech? That I can’t say, only that I did become ambivalent about using speech in certain situations. I was thinking that I couldn’t be a real Deaf person, because I could speak.

The history proves the lie, but, in hindsight it was a necessary process for me to go through.

An illustration of this point occurred during Deaf Pride Week, 1990, when I gave a performance of my own lyrics, using my voice and a bass player. I did not sign [and NO. I did not SING!]. I used an interpreter. And I did not prepare. When I started performing the piece, I was faced with conundrum that I couldn’t get my head around. Here I was, a Deaf person, performing using voice, to a mixed audience of whom a fair few were Deaf. That was the killer. I’ve come to terms with that particular conundrum, and I sincerely hope that I can work it out on the current story/ musical/ rock opera that I am writing. But point still remained, that ambivalence.

I’ve sort out some advice, but no one could give me the answers I was seeking.

At that time, Deaf and deaf people were mixing quite freely at each others parties, so in a sense it was a case of, much a do about nothing. But still, uncertainty and some hostility were undercurrents bubbling away,awaiting release. Venting. Lancing. Name your adjective.

Why should they suddenly loom ominously. I don’t know. I remember this particular fragment of an after party conversation between a group of us, here in Sydney. Our particular group was very conversant in speech, so for those who didn’t sign [couldn't or wouldn't], were still included. Our host, whose flat the party was held in, severely rebuked this friend who was oral, and didn’t sign [well, didn't see why they should]. The rebuke was for their expectation that Deaf people accept and accommodate their preferred communication method, whilst they wouldn’t return the favour by learning to sign.

I had a follow up conversation with my friend [the host] about this conversation.  It centred around the ability to speak, and still be considered part of the Deaf community. Her reply to me was, “I accept them, they should accept me”. Summat like that. That was the first clincher. It raised the question, as to why should I feel guilty about who I am. I no longer felt guilty or ambivalent about my speech skills. They are part of who I am.

Fast forward few years later, to 1993. When I first met GOD. The memory of which, still makes me cringe. The place was Sussex, in England. The event was Leadership Training Part One, run by Friends For The Young Deaf [FYD]. For which I flew all the way from Australia to participate in. You know, sometimes a friggingly, invigorating stoush can bring understanding, where merely exchanging fake congeniality and sucking your cheeks in, invites ridicule, but that’s another  story, for another time. Right now, I want to focus on Leadership Training Part One, Sussex, England, for which I flew all the way from Australia to participate in. And of course GOD. Yes me, the Devil Incarnate and GOD at the same training weekend. A leadership training weekend too. Is that good or wot?

Without focusing too much undue attention on FYD, in its hey day, before it was swallowed up by National Deaf Children’s Society [NDCS], FYD’s modus operandi was to provide the underpinnings of a process that encouraged partnerships between deaf and hearing people [for more information, see below]. Hindsight has taught me many things, and while I agree with its aim of deaf and hearing, I would not do things the way they were done then. Like many organisations devoted to the betterment of Deaf and deaf people, it had its elements of bullshit. You could say, of which, even I was culpable. [The stories are flooding back now].

Meanwhile, somewhere down in Sussex, England, in September 1993, Leadership Part 1, for which I flew all the way from Australia to participate in. It was during this fateful weekend that I met  G.O.D., and unlike the GOD of the Bible whose name was Jehovah, Yahweh, or various other incantations, this G.O.D. was a woman [she still is actually], and she had a name. It was [still is]… work it out yourselves. At the time I was full of the Deaf pride moniker [still am, hasn't gone away or anywhere], that blinded me to the process of coming to terms with losing your hearing, at any age.

Anyway, it was the Saturday night of that weekend, and as part of the night’s entertainment, we were assigned a song to sign sing for the group that night, and would you know, GOD was one of the members of the group I was in. Funny thing group work is, you know, it brings out the worse in people. Something even FYD couldn’t put a lid on. But what I most remember about GOD, was her insistence that she could not do the song. She couldn’t sign. She couldn’t possible learn to sign the song in the short time we had at our disposal. And, Blah, Blah, blah… basically throwing up walls. At the time it didn’t occur to me to think WHY. I just made this assumption that she was just a stupid oralie, and I wanted the thing done with.

Her constant harping about can’t, can’t, can’t, and refusing to listen, clashed with our protestations not to worry and that we will support her. Everybody was using every communication method known to man, and still she wouldn’t listen. Anyway, we got through it. But what I remember most of that weekend, happened afterwards. At the conclusion of the weekend. In the parking lot. Where everybody was saying goodbye to everybody. I noticed that GOD was loitering around the edges. Wary. I knew she wanted to approach me. Say summat. But I was damned if I was gonna kiss her goodbye. Her behaviour on the Saturday night just pissed me off.

I thought I was never gonna see GOD again. Good, I thought.

Not long after, I was visiting people I knew in the FYD Training Centre, in Ladywood, Birmingham England, the way you do when you are a tourist. Who should turn up, but GOD. She was calmer and a lot more composed, and we did get to talking. I don’t remember what the question she asked was, but it related to being deaf and accepting yourself, and blah, blah, blah. I adopted my most professional demeanor and tried to be as a neutral as I could [echoing the FYD meme of open communication channels, and freedom to choice]. We just talked, and I basically went through all the options as to what she could be doing as opposed to what she should be doing. I emphasised that it was more important as to what she thought she should do, and who she thought she should be. I made a point of telling her, that in learning to sign, if she chose that path, it didn’t mean that she had to give up her speech skills. It didn’t mean that she was abandoning the hearing world. It meant that she was ADDING to her skill set. It meant that she adding to her social circles.

In essence, the underpinnings of become bi-lingual and bi-cultural.

We did end up becoming quite good friends [we still are], but not until later the following year, when I returned for a longer stay. That involved another couple of training programs, the last of which ultimately taught me respect for GOD.  But I was really impressed at far she had moved on in the six months, since that Leadership Part One Training weekend. The talk we had in the FYD training centre, rammed a few points home for me as well. One of which is the lesson of humility [though GOD wonders if it is indeed a wasted lesson that one], but more importantly, the lesson I first learnt back home in Australia.

You can’t demand of others, what you won’t give to them. Acceptance of our differences is a two way street.

Now before all you oralies anonymous and their supporters write in, with retorts that my story, highlights what you have been saying all along, and that it justifies your amens and hallelujahs. GOD and I became friends yes, but GOD went on to learn sign language. Neither of us made the mistake of choosing one over the other. Discarding summat in order to fulfill the role of the other. We chose the path of adding to our formidable arsenal of communication skills and social and cultural circles, and fearsome intellect. Throwing off the burden of the medical model, we embrace the social and cultural model of deafness. We were able, and still are able to contribute to Deaf culture, and we identify as Deaf.

Sign language was the great equaliser amongst all those competing communication methods.

I no longer felt guilty about my speech and language skills. And my identity as a Deaf person was assured.

GOD and I became whole [as opposed to wholesome, a word that is not in my dictionary] people.

And the moral of the story is, even the Devil can teach GOD a thing or two.

RELATED LINKS:

The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode Three - A Bedtime Story
The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode Two
The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode One

THE FYD MODUS OPERANDI:

FRIENDS FOR YOUNG DEAF PEOPLE (FYD)

Friends
for Young Deaf People (FYD) is a unique partnership between deaf and hearing people. FYD is a UK registered charity, run by deaf and hearing people for deaf and hearing people. Founded over 20 years ago it aims to promote an active partnership between deaf and hearing people to enable young deaf people to develop themselves and become active members of society. The partnership is achieved through professional programmes of participation, initiative, leadership and ambassador training. FYD works to ensure the following.

The partnership is promoted through Friendship.

1. Deaf people take the lead in shared responsibility as volunteers and staff work together to achieve the aim.
2. Positive role models are provided for both deaf and hearing people.

The partnership focuses on work with young people.

1. Deaf and hearing young people share in activities which promote effective communication and self-confidence.
2. Deaf and hearing young people train together to develop a variety of personal, leadership and work skills.

The partnership acknowledges Deafness as a key issue.

1. Deaf and hearing people can choose how they communicate through ‘total communication’.
2. Deaf
   people overcome disadvantage by developing skills and hearing people
   become more aware so that both can be equal partners with equal
   opportunities

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The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode Three - A Bedtime Story

Trawling [as opposed to slumming] through the various stories, commentaries, and postings, about the use of artificial aids, replete with amens and hallelujahs, sanctifying this precious gift, does make for some interesting reading. Not so much the actual history of the various technologies, but the views, and the language used to present those views. More than that, they are a virtual goldmine of comedic material.

As I said: “Amen!” Bangs the tambourine.

“Hallelujah!” Bangs the tambourine.

“I have an opinion! Just like THEY have an opinion!” Bangs the tambourine!

What many people who read my writings don’t realise, though, is that I too started life as an oralie.

Writing The Oralist’s Melodrama posts, Episode One and Episode Two, and the feedback I have received, has caused me to reflect back on my own auspicious journey. I am reminded of two incidents in my life, that actually cemented my views on Deafness and what it means to be Deaf. They happened at two distinct points in my life, with two different women, and in two different countries. AND NO. THERE WERE NO AMOROUS EXCHANGES. That would be a rather odd situation for Tony. No? But first.

In 1965, four years after I was born, there was an outbreak of rubella in Australia. I contracted the disease, and as a result I became deaf. I’m not going to describe the technical specifications, suffice to say, I am severe to profoundly deaf. But by some strange quirk, I have a lot of useful hearing in the voice range, which is where hearing aids for me do prove useful. In the same year, my youngest brother was six months old or there abouts, when he too got sick and lost his hearing. He has a similar loss to mine, but the essential difference is that I had already acquired my language skills. And yes, that makes a helluva lot of difference.

My earliest recollection that anything was unusual, was my father asking me to go stand in a corner, facing away from him. I was to turn around when he called me. Of course, kids being kids, I would turn around anyways. I thought it was a game, and we were supposed to be having fun. So why wouldn’t I turn around. Anyway? After that, nowt much, until I got fitted with a hearing aid. The old box in a bag, that everybody thought was a radio. The old box that would fall out of the bag, whenever you ran really fast, or jumped

For a long time, I didn’t think I was any different to anybody else, and it didn’t occur to me that the use of a hearing aid was odd, or that I was missing out on anything. I actually thought that I was hearing what everybody else was hearing though my hearing aid. I went to hearing schools, spoke, watched TV, and did what hearing people do. Whatever it is that they do. It wasn’t until my highschool years, that I began to realise that my hearing was not like everybody else’s. The first such epiphany was the recommendation that I be fitted with a hearing aid on my other ear. I didn’t it, but then, no knew any better, and no one questioned the doctors whom we all assumed knew it all. And somewhere along the line, I acquired the notion that I was disabled. Though what was interesting, whenever I said I was disabled, some family would respond in the negative, stating that I could walk, talk, do this and do that, and that I was no like all the other poor buggers who couldn’t do this, this, this and that. I didn’t know it at the time, it was my first exposure, to the fine distinction between being deaf and being disabled. The pertinent point being that deafness was not a disability.
 
It was during my college years, that the manifesto began to unravel. More seriously so, when I started working. But in the early part of my final year at college, I had to take in my hearing aid for repairs. When I got the aid back, it sounded different. It didn’t sound the same as before. It caused much angst and a few requests to adjust the sound. But to no avail. I was stuck. I could not communicate exactly what was wrong. I was not taught the inner workings of this miraculous piece of technology. The self assurance that I had up to that point, gave way to doubt and insecurity. In that moment, everything I understood about myself had evaporated. I was really upset. Scared even. Whilst I regained my composure, the effect was lasting. To this day, I am very ambivalent about being in the hearing world without my hearing aids. I am very ambivalent about new developments in the technology. They force you to change according to their dictates, not yours. And as useful as they are, my hearing aids became crutches.

AND YOUR NAME IS JONAH, was the epiphanic moment that set me on the road to Deafhood. Seeing sign language, and realising there was an alternative. Even if at the time, I still operated under the moniker that I was disabled. The important thing was that, I was presented with a an alternative. A cheerful alternative. And with that knowledge, I happily embarked on a journey of discovery that saw me become involved in the Australian Deaf Community, of which joining the Deafness Awareness Week committee, as a representative of New South Wales Association of The Deaf [NSWAD], was the pinnacle. For the simple reason, that we established a breakaway awareness week, called Deaf Pride Week that celebrated our humanity on our terms. Not hearing terms.

I truly don’t have a problem with people choosing to use artificial aids, learn to speak, lipread, cue or other variations on a topic. What I have a problem with, is this continuing drive to categorise and classify deafness according to the reigning medical dogma, and the solutions presented according to medical dogma and parental “preference”. For me, It boils down to one the salient point. The powerlessness of the child as opposed to the empowerment of the adult. Which is starkly illustrated by the differences in a child being implanted and an adult being implanted. More than that, the differences in communication methods and the way each one of us is raised, contributes to the very divisions that people complain about. Whatever your views are, don’t dare write me, pointing out the bad behaviour exhibited by Deaf people, when the oralies congregation is just as bad, if not worse.

It was the 1980s and until the early 1990s, continuing along the path
laid out by AND YOUR NAME IS JONAH, that I became heavily involved in
various committees, sub committees and social groups. My speech and language skills are very good. In addition, I have useful residual hearing which allows me to converse with hearing people, that they forget that I am Deaf [or have a hearing impairment]. I didn’t have a problem. The people I was meeting, had the same or similar skills, with varying levels of proficiency, but by and large, we got on because we could sign. Having said that, my way into the Deaf community was paved by younger brother who grew up with special deaf units attached to hearing schools, deaf colleagues, and sign language. Though in my last two years of highschool, I had access to an Itinerant Travelling Teacher of The Deaf.

I was having the time of my life, and  exploring my deafness and Deaf identity. Having  a positive Deaf identity was a big thing, still is, and one that I wholeheartedly embrace. It was in the latter years of my involvement, that I became ambivalent about the fact I speak very well. The more I read and understood Deaf history, the more aware of how persecuted Deaf people were. That I became ambivalent about my good speech. I used to think that I couldn’t be a real Deaf person, because I could speak. Of course the history proves the lie, but it was a necessary process to go through.

What about the “Two Times, The Two Women, and The Two Countries?” I hear you say. That’s for the next post, sorry [Smirk]!

Come to think of it, there’s this other story I have. A stoush between Signing Deaf and Oral Deaf on a Leadership Training Program. Hmmmmmmmmmm. Another story for another time. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!

RELATED LINKS:

The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode Two
The Oralist’s Melodrama: Episode One

ELSEWHERE IN CYBERSPACE:

Seeing is believing
Yes Mike, I get it.
Allan Appel: Invisible disabilities come in many forms

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