Editor's Note: The following is an excerpt from Mark Drolsbaugh's lastest book Madness in the Mainstream, chronicling the struggles of both everyday life and academic work as a child in the mainstream, or "least restrictive environment." You can learn more at Deaf Culture Online, or find him on Twitter @drolzuncensored. Thanks for sharing, Mark!
[Also: The author uses a bit of strong language to illustrate the inner thoughts of a frustrated 7th grade boy, which may not be appropriate for little eyes.]
In Deaf Again, I described my elementary school years at Plymouth
Meeting Friends School as the calm before the storm. PMFS is a small K-6 Quaker
school where my deafness rarely caused any problems.
First and foremost, I was not yet
profoundly deaf. I was still in the early stages of a progressive hearing loss
and thus was able to keep up with small group discussions. Since PMFS is a
small private school, pretty much every discussion was a small group
discussion. The staff to student ratio of 1:4 often worked to my advantage.
The close-knit environment at PMFS
helped me get used to each student’s speech pattern to the point where
one-on-one conversations were relatively easy. In fact, I was even able to talk
on the phone with some of my more patient classmates. My best friend Norman,
for example, often spelled out words that I couldn’t understand on the phone.
"Jenny
told Trisha she thinks you’re cute. Cute. I said, CUTE! C-U-T-E! No, I didn’t
say you’re cute. What kind of a question is that? Jenny said you’re cute.
JENNY! J-E-N-N-Y!”
Then there was the issue of
social skills. In elementary school you don’t really need to be a master
conversationalist. Social time at recess is mostly kickball, dodgeball, tag, or
any other game. If you knew how to take turns and get through a game without
arguing, you were part of the In Crowd.
Junior high school is an entirely
different animal.
My
family enrolled me at Germantown Friends School for the seventh grade. It soon
became obvious that communication was going to be a huge challenge. Not only
was the student body at GFS much larger than what I was used to at PMFS, but my
hearing loss continued to get worse.
GFS recognizes that the transition
from elementary school to junior high is a big one. For this reason they have
an annual seventh grade camping trip right before the beginning of the school
year. They believe that a couple days of community-building activities allow
everyone to bond and get off to a good start. Unfortunately, a good start for
the hearing kids can be a traumatic one for the lone deaf kid.
When I was dropped off at the GFS
parking lot, there were over one hundred seventh graders milling around. This
was almost ten times as many students I graduated with at PMFS. Right off the
bat, I was lost.
There were maybe four or five kids I
knew from little league. I swapped a quick how-do-ya-do with each of them.
Sure, I could play with them for two hours on a baseball field, but a two-hour
bus ride was another story. I didn’t say another word to anyone as I sat
silently by the window.
Fast-forward
for a second here. If you ask any of my old Gallaudet University baseball
teammates, they’ll tell you I couldn’t shut up on the team bus. Our road trips
had plenty of stories and jokes and I was involved in most of them. It’s like
night and day when you compare trips with deaf and hearing peers.
As the buses arrived at the
campgrounds, I grabbed my stuff and played the old game of figure out where I’m going. As various GFS staff announced who
needed to go where for what activity, I had to corner them afterwards to remind
them I was deaf.
In
some mainstream programs this is lauded as “having excellent self-advocacy
skills.” Fuck that. My anxiety level was off the charts.
Soon I figured out which group I was
assigned to and followed what they were doing the best that I could. Unlike at
PMFS, I could not understand a word anyone said.
Time
to go into survival mode.
During the team-building activities, I
got into the habit of making sure I stayed near the end of the line. This way I
was able to buy enough time to figure out what we were doing. By the time it
was my turn, it looked like I was an old pro. Some of the staff actually
thought I was able to follow their directives. Until...
“Mark, stay off the asphalt.”
As we walked down the road towards the
next team-building activity, our staff leader wanted to make sure we stayed off
to the side in case there was any oncoming traffic. It took me a while to
figure this out.
“Huh?”
Was
he talking to me?
“Mark, I said stay off the asphalt.”
Shit.
He’s definitely talking to me. And everyone’s staring.
“Huh?”
This was embarrassing. Could it possibly
get any worse?
Yes,
it could.
One of those kids who played in my
baseball rec league realized what was going on. He moved closer to me so I
could read his lips.
“He said stay off the asphalt.”
“Huh? Wave off my ass fart?”
Welcome
to junior high, kid.
Later that evening the whole seventh
grade gathered together in a large cabin. A staff leader barked out directions,
and once again I just stood there without a clue while several students broke
off into small groups. They huddled in small circles and apparently they were
planning something. Was it some kind of competition? A scavenger hunt? Ghost
stories? Who knew?
As far as I could tell, whatever
activity was going on must have been an optional one. Some of the students
stayed seated where they were. I moved towards the back of the room and sat
behind them.
One by one, each group took turns
performing an improvisational skit. I sat there bored out of my mind. Time
slowed down to an agonizing eternity.
Uh-oh.
The staff leader is looking at me again. What does he want now?
Apparently the skits were pretty good
and the staff decided everyone should get involved. I could see the staff
leader pointing towards kids in the back and calling them out. My heart skipped
a beat when he briefly made eye contact with me. As discreetly as possible, I
moved to the other side of the room. Damned if I was going to let him put me in
a position where I’d make a total ass out of myself on stage.
Let’s
fast-forward again. At an all-deaf Halloween party in 2002, my good buddy Neil
McDevitt—dressed up as improv comic and sitcom star Drew Carey—decided to
initiate a game based on Carey’s popular Whose Line Is It Anyway? television show. Several people immediately
nominated me as one of the contestants. I did not disappoint. During the
“Scenes from a Hat” segment, I was assigned the role of “President of Gallaudet
University on crack.” What followed was an improv commencement address that had
everyone howling with laughter. See what I’m getting at? Night and day.
There had to be a way out of this mess.
I glanced around in desperation and found the exit. Standing in front of the
door—and my escape from Hearing People Hell—was another staff leader. It was
Caroline, my soon-to-be history teacher. I’d managed to establish a friendly
rapport with her earlier in the day. Perhaps if I talked to her, she’d
understand.
“Uh, Caroline?” I stammered.
“Yes, Mark?”
“I twisted my ankle today and it’s
really bothering me. Mind if I go back to the campground and lie down?”
Was
that a lame-ass excuse or what?
At first Caroline glanced across the
room, apparently looking for whoever had the first aid kit. It would only take
a couple of minutes to wrap my allegedly sore ankle. But then Caroline stopped
and looked me in the eye.
“Are you sure?”
Caroline wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly
what was going on.
“Yeah. I just need to rest up. I’ll be
fine.”
“Okay, go ahead. Good night, Mark.”
I thanked Caroline and headed back to
the campground, where I curled up in my sleeping bag and gazed at the stars.
I breathed a sigh of relief. The stars
were much better company than anyone in the cabin. At that moment I might have
been alone, but at least I was no longer lonely. That’s just the way it is.
This was a huge turning point in my
life. It was right there in that sleeping bag, lying alone under the stars,
when I realized that I was on my own. As long as I allowed other people to make
decisions for me, my life was going to be a living hell.
And this is precisely why I cringe every
time someone insists that mainstream schools are the Least Restrictive
Environment.
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Further reading on Redeafined: Deaf School vs. Mainstreaming Pros and Cons, Benefits of Deaf Schools, Benefits of Mainstreaming
Further reading on Redeafined: Deaf School vs. Mainstreaming Pros and Cons, Benefits of Deaf Schools, Benefits of Mainstreaming
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