Happy Independence Day!

Greetings on the Fourth of July, the celebration of American Independence, the quintessential summer holiday. Salutations to all cuers, for providing our children with the gift of literacy and thus independence of learning.

About a half dozen years ago, I heard a lecture by Dr. Carol LaSasso, presenting on her paper co-authored with Dr. Melanie Metzger (see the NCSA web site for links to the paper), about the benefits of using Cued Speech to teach deaf children how to read. Both Ben’s mom and I had been drawn to cueing in a great way because of its focus on literacy. Dr. LaSasso laid out her research and its conclusion that Cued Speech was the best system to teach deaf children to read. She then observed the phrase I have since stolen and used without attribution for years: in order to learn independently, one has to be able to read.

Cued Speech is the best system to teach a deaf child to read, and thus cueing leads to ability of our deaf children to learn independently. No reliance on technology, interpreters, or intermediaries. Cueing, with its ability to show the phonemes of spoken language, and thus permit the de-coding of the written version of the spoken language, teaches deaf children to read. And with reading, our deaf children are always independent in learning. Access to the written word; literacy in action!

Proudly cue “Happy Independence Day!” For cuers, for our deaf children, this phrase is more than just a salutation for one day.

17 Again: Back to the Future of Cueing …

… or, how the past is the present and the future.

Two weeks ago, on May 2, Ben turned seventeen. Born just past noon on a bright Spring Saturday, he emerged a beautiful infant, and grew into an adorable toddler with blue eyes, curly golden hair, and a sweet disposition.

Although not yet manifested at birth and in these early years, Ben was born with enlarged vestibular aqueducts in his inner ears (see http://www.nidcd.nih.gov/health/hearing/eva.asp for specific information on this form of hearing loss). In layperson’s language, Ben was born with structural defects in his inner ears, formed in utero, which predisposed him to deafness. That predisposition emerged when he was about three and one-half years old.

At birth, I fell in love with my boy; it was love at first sight. As he grew from infancy to toddler-hood, my heart bubbled with joy, pride, and love. Another child, my precious girl Maddie, came into my life. I fell in love again. Later that year, Ben’s deafness became evident, and a diagnosis was given, for all the good it did to attach a label to the cause.

Ben’s birth set in motion a chain of events leading everywhere, in all kinds of directions, including deafness, Cued Speech, and a cochlear implant. A portal to a different world opened. A new format emerged. A new identity enveloped me at Ben’s birth, setting in motion a chain of events as a parent, a dad to a son (and later a daughter), a father to a deaf child (and later a hearing one), a cueing man.

Like the time-travel movies referenced in the title, our present is the past, and will be the future. Ben’s recent birthday was a celebration of the beginning of his journey on earth. Seventeen years later, our journey together is inextricably linked to deafness and cueing.

Ben is a deaf cuer; I am cueing dad. Our history is based on this reality; our future will make this reality our history. In the present, that’s something to celebrate!

London Calling

No, not the storied 1979 album by the glorious British punk band, The Clash. The real city — the Roman military encampment founded in 43 A.D., grown into one of the greatest capital cities the world — London, England. To Ben, Maddie, and me, it was London calling, and we spent Spring Break exploring the vibrant city on the Thames.

My big Ben face to face (to face to face, if you get the joke) with Big Ben. My princess-acting delight of a daughter in the company of the Queen and the royal court. This Duke acknowledging the courage and accomplishments of the Duke of Marlborough and the Duke of Wellington.

Based in Bloomsbury, we explored many of the museums in the city, with our faves being the British Imperial War Museum and its fantastic exhibits on World War I and World War II, the Natural History Museum and its cathedral-like Central Hall, and the British Museum, with the Elgin Marbles, Egyptian mummies, and the Rosetta Stone.

The Rosetta Stone is a stone slab bearing parallel inscriptions, which gave the world the key to the long-forgotten language of ancient Egypt. The first inscription is in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. The second is in demotic, the popular language of Egypt at that time when the stone was inscribed. At the bottom of the stone the same message is written again in Greek. By working from the Greek, the Rosetta Stone made possible the decipherment of ancient Egypitian hieroglyphics,

Remind you of Cued Speech and cueing? Decipherment? A key to language acquisition?

The figurative definition of Rosetta Stone is something that is a critical key to a process of decryption or translation of a difficult problem. The critical key to literacy in a language, the ability to read and write, is to understand the phonemes of the language (the sounds of the language). Making visual the spoken phonemes, cueing permits the decryption of the written language, providing deaf cuers with the critical key to understanding the written language.

One speaks a sentence. One cues the spoken sentence to the deaf child. The deaf child understands the sentence and can find the written version of that sentence. Or: the deaf child reads a written sentence. The deaf child uses the knowledge of cues to de-code the language. The deaf child can express by cues or voice the written sentence. The critical key to the process of translation? Cued Speech and cueing.

Cueing. The Rosetta Stone of literacy.

Argentine Journal — Fathers & Sons

Super Sunday? Absolutely! The shared bonds of man, his son, and his son’s son.

Yesterday I spoke with my 88-year old father in Florida, catching up with his weekend. The usual routines for him, attending church, breakfasting with friends, visiting my mother in the nursing home (stricken with Alzheimer’s). As American males, we naturally did a post mortem on the big game, the Super Bowl. We concurred that it turned out to be an entertaining and exciting game.

How had I spent the game, he asked?

Well … although the youngsters were not with me this week, I had invited Ben over to watch, as he would be relegated to the backup TV at his mother’s house.

Watching the game, I noticed the captions were behind, especially on some of the controversial moments. Ben asked me questions that the announcers were discussing or had just touched upon (was his knee down? was his arm moving forward, or was it a fumble?), but the captions lagged. I’d cue to him that the announcers were discussing it, and we’d wait the moment as the captions came through.

We two watched the rest of the game, including the very exciting fourth quarter, then I returned him to his mother’s house.

Similar to my father and me in years past, Ben and I shared the Super Bowl together, bonding over the game, eating lots of food, watching the ads.

With a twist: captions and cues were part of our experience, as they always are, as they always will be.

A Super Sunday? Absolutely! I spent the Super Bowl with my special son, Ben, as once upon a time my father spent the games with me. Hearing or deaf, the love of a father and son endures.

Argentine Journal — The Constant Educator

Have you ever been disappointed that no one knows about cueing, about Cued Speech’s design as an ideal tool in overcoming deaf illiteracy?

I was at a friend’s son’s Bar Mitzvah last weekend (I have just loved saying that phrase; such joy to use a double possessive). In a quieter moment, it was revealed through our conversation about Ben being deaf, and my friend’s relatives proceeded to ask questions. Can he hear? Is he mainstreamed? Does he sign? Wears what aids?

The Cued Speech conversation: “System designed to help deaf children learn to read and write, by conveying the spoken language in a visual form, and that visual form providing the ‘phonics’ of the spoken language, called ‘phonemes’ … The hybrid, using a manual system (like signing) but conveying the oral language (so really an oral approach). The genius of Dr. Cornet’s system — whatever looks alike on the mouth is cued differently; whatever is cued the same looks different. No ambiguity.” The Constant Educator.

And we haven’t even talked about the implant!

I truly welcome the questions, and love to talk about Ben; cueing; cochlear implants; the differences between oral, sign, and cueing; social adjustments; reactions of Maddie as a hearing sibling.

I have no expectations that people would know of cueing. What people know of deafness is usually mixed up with signing. So something other than signing, especially a system that uses the hands, is pure puzzlement to most people.

So while I sometimes have a tinge of disappointment that cueing is so under the radar, it provides a great opportunity for awareness and teaching.

Deafness is Ben’s story, his identity. The story of his parents and sister, his extended family. Cueing is part of Ben’s deafness. The cochlear implant is part of his deafness. Because cueing is our history, the now and future is literacy, Ben’s ability to read and write, to learn independently.

– Never heard of Cued Speech?
– Well, do a have a few minutes?
– Excellent, because I have a great story to tell.
– It is about a young boy — a human story full of drama and inspiration.
– My connection to the story?
– The Constant Educator, of course.

Argentine Journal (Fragments)

Refracted thoughts on Argentina, communication, empathy for Ben and his deafness:

(1) Can you ever really blend in when you are an outsider? Should you?

In the first day or two of our journey to Argentina, my daughter Maddie seemed oddly out of sorts when I cued to my son Ben, especially in restaurants or stores. She wanted us only to speak in Spanish, but that was impossible for Ben (and probably me too). I spoke with her in Spanish and cued English to Ben. But even when out of earshot of locals, Maddie seemed annoyed with my cueing to Ben. I soon realized that Maddie wanted to blend into the scene, and the cues were attracting attention and identfying us as “outsiders.”

I argued for using travel “judo,” and turning the situation around. Not being embarassed or awkward, but acknowledging your status and all it entails, and approaching situations with curiousity and goodwill. After all, although we were tourists, we were clearly curious and bold enough to visit, we knew the language and customs, and, on an economic level, we were spending money. Looked at this way, shouldn’t we be proud of our status? Weren’t we the intriguing tourists, Americans hearing and deaf, able to speak English and Spanish?

While the cues identified us as “not-from-here,” the cues enhanced our uniqueness as indomitable travellers. Why blend, when our difference is a source of pride?

(2) The butterfly effect?

Before heading to Buenos Aires, I had looked up the Spanish version of cued speech, called “La Palabra Complementada” and downloaded a Spanish language description from the web site of the University of Malaga, Spain, www.uma.es/moc (you can also find the web site via links at the National Cued Speech Association web site, www.cuedspeech.org). At the celebration of the 40th anniversary of cued speech in 2006, I had met the Spanish professors who have instituted cued speech in Spain, so knew something was out there. I read through the description so I could give it a whirl if it came up in conversation, and printed out the description just in case.

Arriving from the airport, we met the rental company representative and the actual owner of the apartment. I explained as best I could that we were not using a sign language but were instead using a communication system based on spoken language (I couldn’t lay my hands on the paper). Both listened politely, but the owner clearly did not grasp it.

On our last day, the owner came to check us out of the apartment (and return our deposit). She said that her daughter’s day care used some signs as part of its approach, and asked again about cued speech. I again described the concept of cueing and had, by then, found the printout describing cued speech in Spanish, the system of cues and its relation to the spoken language. She asked if she could keep the description; por supuesto, I replied.

One person in Buenos Aires, who might read the article and might bring it to her daughter’s preschool, and might discuss it with a teacher or administrator. Or maybe she only reads the article, and infrequently recalls our visit, and our cueing. Could her reading, her discussion, her memory of Ben, cause some educational butterfly effect? Could the beatings of our cueing wings, so to speak, cause a tornado of deaf communication in Argentina?

Not at all likely, I know. But sometimes I like to dream. And in the dream I see the butterfly effect of our cueing visit, and I cue to my courageous deaf son, “Can you believe it?”

Argentine Journal (Listening)

Argentine Journal (Field Notes)

The effort of listening.  How travel to a foreign country, with a foreign language, generates empathy for Ben, my deaf son.

During our time in Buenos Aires we stayed in an apartment.  This provided us a perfect base of operations to unpack our gear, a kitchen for supplies and meal preparation, beds and baths for sleeping and washing.  And, I realized upon reflection, a respite from listening to and speaking in Spanish. 

Most late afternoons, after a long sortie out of the apartment for breakfast and lunch, exploring neighborhoods, walking and roaming the city, we would return exhausted.  I attributed the fatigue to our active agenda, and allowed time for us to take it easy, before moving to our evening plans.  Ben played his hand-held games, Maddie watched television, I consulted maps and guide books. 

As the days moved along, I saw that the active touring was not the only reason for our fatigue.  Thinking and listening and hearing and speaking and reading — all in Castellano (Argentine Spanish) — was exhausting!  The effort required to stay “in tune” to this different world, the concentration required, took so much out of us. 

I see parallels to deafness.  The inability to hear creates a barrier to understanding the spoken language.  Cueing, by providing a clear phoneme stream, lessens that barrier significantly.  But the deaf person still has to use so much energy and effort to stay in tune with the spoken language.  Likewise, in Argentina, Castellano was our communication barrier, and we were putting lots of energy and effort in trying to stay in tune with the spoken language. 

On the streets of Buenos Aires, through the prism of another language, my sensitivities to Ben and his deafness were fine tuned.