As I said in an earlier post, I needed to learn to rethink my own approach to language.  I have a tendency to speak very fast.  People are always surprised to learn I’m from the south, since my rate of speech is so fast.  It was very frustrating for me to try and Cue at a pace which would keep up with my rate of speech.  I think things finally clicked for me when I began to relate my breakdown of the words I would Cue, to the breakdown of words in music.  I’d played the piano since I was a child, and I’d sung in school and church choirs along the way, so reading music and reading the choral accompaniment to music was familiar.  At some point while I was trying to come into my own rhythm of Cueing, I realized that if I thought of the words as if they were the refrain from a song, it became easier for me to Cue. I’m not sure if this approach simply slowed me down enough so that my burgeoning Cueing skill could keep up, or if there is some other type of connection between the fluency of Cueing and the fluidity of producing music.  The two seemed like the perfect complement to one another though and it certainly helped me to progress in my skill.

(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?”

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I think one of the most beautiful parts about this country is our freedom. Our freedom to choose and have a choice. We have a freedom to fall, make mistakes, and pick ourselves right back up again and keep moving. Isn’t it amazing that we have this freedom? You, as a child, a parent, a professional, or a grandparent, have just as much freedom to help determine the best communication strategy for you, one that works for you, not what works for your neighbor’s best friend’s brother-in-law.

My parents went on this journey without a support group because everything was “so new” back in 1983. But quickly, they found parents who were in the very same position: parents who were unsure of what they’re doing and constantly battling the forces of “you should be doing this, you should be doing that.” The thread that bound them all together was their perseverance, and willingness to stand up for what they believed to be the best practice for them, and their child. I’m speaking to young cuers when I say, stand up for yourself and be heard, speak, and be proud of your abilities as a unique individual. You’ll get a lot of respect that way. Don’t be afraid. Really. It’s the challenges that make us all stronger. The common denominator isn’t that we’re deaf, it’s that we’re willing to believe in ourselves.

Before I sign off, don’t let people make you believe that you can’t do what you want to do. The only person who can look out for you is you and your family.

What moments stick out in your mind, where you feel like you’ve had to stand up for yourself when it seemed hard, as a parent, a teacher, or a child?

As a hearing individual, I found that I could practice my cueing while I was alone. I could cue in the car to the news or commercials coming over the radio. I could cue while reading a book. I could cue while walking or exercising and listening to my iPod. I didn’t have to cue to another person to improve my skill. I just had to practice. But, I have to admit, I’m a horrible Cue Reader. I can’t always tell what someone cues back to me unless I hear them speak. Why is that? Because no one cues to me! My son knows I can understand him when he responds verbally, so he doesn’t find it necessary to cue to me. Therefore, he gets lazy and won’t bother. I’m not often around enough native cuers to get good practice at Cue Reading.

In order to teach my hearing impaired son to cue, we cued TO him. He began to absorb the visual cues the same way a hearing person absorbs the spoken language around them. How do I now better learn to Cue Read?

I’ve given up on requesting that my son cue to me.  Some battles with teenagers are just not worth it, and this is one battle that’s just not worth taking on.  Hence, I must look to other avenues.  When I cue to a cueing adult and they do not cue back to me, is it impolite to ask them to cue back?  Would I be implying that they are not speaking well?  I don’t want to imply that. I don’t want to make them feel self conscious over their own verbal abilities.  I just want practice Cue Reading.  What is the appropriate etiquette in this situation?

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. 

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