I'm a CODA

So, I'm a "Child of Deaf Parents"- CODA.   Some people think that CODA is a acronym for something sinister like alcoholics or something. But in deaf culture circles, we all know what a CODA is.  And for what's it worth; being a CODA was actually pretty cool.    I think there were some in my town that sort of looked on our family and other deaf parent families with pity or curiosity, but all of us turned out just great. Probably better than most families with a bit of dysfunction.

Being a child of deaf adults had it's ups and downs. I know I share the same backgrounds and history as a lot of people that grew up that way. And what's interesting, is now over the past some years; the similar scenarios that a generation of us had in common- are not so common anymore. Because; the Deaf Adults and Deaf Parents and their children today are not the same as a generation ago.

It's been awhile since I got in touch with my "deaf culture" side.  Since my parents died, it's been slightly removed from my current frame and place. But once in awhile, I get together with some deaf relatives ad my mom and dad's friends, and share a night of gossip and catching up. It's great to do that, and it makes me wistful for those times with my parents again. But I've noticed, that the other generation of deaf adults that I've run across, don't have that bond with other deaf parents and their children.  Maybe it's because so many of the next generation of deaf adults/parents didn't attend an institutional school; they were mainstreamed into public schools. Their lives were centered around making sure they fit into the HEARING world and a tag along interpreter. So they entered the dating, workforce and adulthood life sort of by themselves.   Not with a tight knit bond of "deafies" who did everything together like my parents did with their circle of friends.  It's different, this generation of deaf adults-parents that  may have hearing children like my parents did, but they either married hearing spouses and work in a "hearing" world.   The CODA experience for mainstreamed Deaf Adults  today  is not the same as the CODA experience of us who had parents who grew up in the institutional setting and worked with deaf people. And to me, that is a sad thing.

I feel a bond with foreign immigrant families whose children were born English speaking but at home the foreign language was spoken. It was the same way at my house.  I feel an identity with those new immigrants, whether Hispanic, Asian, Slavic, even middle eastern families.  The new immigrant  parents struggle with the language, the "English" world,  the American culture, and lean on their English speaking children to translate the world so it makes sense.  They stay close to their communities,and ethnic neighborhoods  and are engaged with others like them. They socialize together, worship together, marry each other, and eventually a generation later, they're all melded into the American soup pot.  But for a generation; there's that sticky mess of part of the family not quite in the mainstream.  I know it well.  Lived it.

The Note Pad: 
I was the oldest child, so many times the responsibility of communicating with the "hearing world" was left to me.  This story is common with many CODA's, bearing the responsibility of making sure our parents were understood to the outside world.  I ordered food for my parents at restaurants, made appointments, even having to talk to police, doctors or bankers, about very personal information no child should ever have to do. My parents were fiercely independent,and for years they were part of the group that rejected interpreters; so there were times, that my sister or I needed to step in because that writing pad that my parents brought with them everywhere -well it just doesn't work sometimes when things are not clear or you don't need to tell the waitress "bring some ketchup" on a note pad.  But that note pad was always there.  We found a box of them when we cleaned out my parents house.It made me laugh, and today, deaf people have the freedom to use email, text, and tty's and video relay to communicate without involving their children.  I know my parents always had the security of the note pad  or an interpreter, but somehow knowing that that their children were there to always speak for them; is comforting to me even now.

Your House is Loud:
You would think having two deaf parents would make for a silent home. Wrong. Our house was loud.  Because with profoundly deaf parents, they never had any idea how much noise they were making.  Making meals was very loud. Huge pots and pans, dishes, cupboard doors,running the water, the disposal, dishwasher even if you were trying to read or study...  it was crazy how loud things were, and my sister and I would just turn up the radio or tv to stifle the sound they were making, so then it was even louder. I never realized how loud until my husband to be came to meet my parents and he couldn't believe the racket.  

You Probably Got Away With Everything:
This is not true. Ask any CODA. I think deaf parents are hyper-sensitive parents; and they KNOW when their kids are screwing off.  They know the weird looks from other parents when their kid is doing something inappropriate like having a tantrum in the middle of a store. Or even worse, your name in the paper because you did something bad, like a ticket or something worse.  CODA's of my generation were drilled to NEVER embarrass their parents.  It's the code of a CODA.  Don't embarrass, humiliate or draw attention to the Deaf Parent.  "Because you never know, THEY could come and take children away because some police might think Deaf Parents are bad parents and cannot know what their children are doing because they can't hear"  Am I right CODA's?   (head nod)

Deaf Church:
I will tell you this.  Deaf Church is very quiet. At least my experience was.  My parents belonged to and started a congregation of Deaf Lutherans or what have you. They were not the "Deaf Catholics" they  had their own church and interpreter.  The Deaf Lutheran Church was different and quiet.  No music unless you count 2 or  3 deaf ladies up at the alter signing Onward Christian Soldiers.  Somehow the impact was missing- at least for me the hearing kid who had sang it and heard it with the big organ at the big Lutheran church downtown with a congregation of 300. Mmmm yah, it wasn't the same.  Just a lot of silent hands, sometimes angry hands, and maybe a lay minister feebly trying to sign to his new congregation because he was a lay minister who just learned sign.  I did not like Deaf Church, nor did I like Hearing Church, because my sister and I were like the two little orphan children with the neighbor who drove us to church every Sunday.  Parent-less, stared at, pitied at the coffee hour, because while other parents were chatting it up and having donuts... my parents were at their Deaf Church.  I was a lost soul-even in Church. It has affected me years later even to this day.

I Can Finger spell Faster than You:
I remember it well. The day some girls in my grade school discovered "sign language". I was mortified.  I could not understand why these little Brownies were making it THEIR MISSION to learn to finger spell and learn sign language.  It was like they demanded entry into my secret world with my family and deaf friends. Why did they want to know that? Was it some kind of test for Girl Scouts?  I would see them practicing and hand spelling to each other like it was secret code.  Many in my school never knew I had deaf parents.  Then one day, I couldn't STAND it! They were all in a little circle, proudly spelling to each other with the little alphabet card they got somewhere, and I said; "You know, I can finger spell faster than any of you"  and I whipped it out. Right there on the playground. 4 seconds flat- the whole alphabet, even the crazy hard Q and R ,that twist your whole hand and K and P that no one EVER gets. Expertly. I think that was the first time I was proud of knowing how to sign.  Yeah.. next time you think you're in your secret code talking about something.. I'm watching you.

Deaf Movie Night:
For the hearing reader, this probably doesn't make any sense to you, but I assure you, it still is a problem today.  For many Americans, going to movies is like a non-event. You see a trailer, you want to go, you buy a ticket, get some popcorn, and you're there immersed in movie-land.   So as a child, I wanted to go to movies, so we really didn't get to go until we were older and could go to the movies by ourselves. I remember going to Sound of Music with my Mom and Dad; which looking back on it.. what did they get out of it? It was the SOUND OF MUSIC for God sake. The irony doesn't escape me.  So to get around the problem of going to movies that were meaningless dialogue and musical scenes which most deaf people would fall asleep at, they would go see westerns because at least there was guns, good guys and bad guys, and horses.  The deaf group my parents hung out with had a monthly Deaf Movie Night.  It usually required a giant noisy film projector- borrowed from the school- usually in the gym at the school, and later it moved to a room at the basement of a bank, or a basement room of a real estate office, or finally someones house in their basement.  It also required a screen and then later it ended up being a white bed sheet tacked on a wall.  My dad and a few other dads took jabs at being the projectionist and making sure that the next film reel was ready to load into the projector.  If the film ever broke.. well  there went 8 minutes of the movie, and guess you'll figure it out.  The movies for Deaf Movie Night were always CAPTIONED FOR THE DEAF,  and in black and white and were at least 30 years old and rarely acclaimed award winning movies. Rarely was there a color one- if there was, I wasn't there for it.  The deaf families would organize the steel folding chairs in rows (like a theatre), and there would be popcorn, and candy that the Deaf Club would have stashed away, but bring it out for an intermission and sell the candy bars and pop and popcorn to the CODA's that would stand around in the back.  The parents would visit and the CODA's would hang out and play games with each other. Rarely did the kids ever watch the movie.  I know many of my CODA friends have the best memories of Deaf Movie Night.  But think about that the next time you go to a movie. They're not captioned like a tv programs, so unless it's a "captioned" special evening.. the deaf world is left out until it comes out on DVD or online.  So 21st Century.

Secret Shame
Ok, I can go on and on about life as a CODA. I may do another story or two. But here's my secret shame and I know some other CODA's agree.  I'm sure as a baby and toddler my parents voice was their voice and I knew no other. It was sweet, nurturing, babbling, cooing just as other parents do with their babies and I'm sure I developed my sense of voice from their baby-speak.  But, there was a point in time, when I knew that my parents voice wasn't like the others.  Maybe it was in a grocery store or at a park. Maybe it's when I misbehaved and wasn't "listening" or obeying what they had told me to do. STAY HERE.  NO. BE GOOD GIRL. Well, I never noticed their Deaf Voice until people around me noticed it. And I noticed most of deaf parents I knew never used their Deaf Voice unless they HAD TO. For good reason, it drew attention to their deafness.   And for me, I didn't like it.  Because deaf parents who were been born deaf, or lost their hearing, have NO idea what they sound like. It's like shouting into a wind tunnel, with no perception of volume, tone, affect.  So to have your deaf parent use the DEAF VOICE- in public. Wow.. get ready. If you never heard one, I think it's like a combination of a elk bugle, mooing cow, an old dried out saxophone.  I think that's why CODA's generally are pretty well behaved children because they know... mom might use her DEAF VOICE and then it's over.   It's all over.

I Sign
I sign well.  In fact, I sign as well as someone born to into a Hispanic family knows Spanish as their first-second language.  I know the dialects, the slang, the nuances, the formal language, and the "shortcuts" which for most is the true language: American Sign Language.  ASL.  But admittedly, I'm not proficient at it. I think as CODA's  there was one parent who signed to us in ENGLISH, and the other who signed in ASL.  For my family, my mother ( the teacher) was always signing to us in Signed English- proper noun verb order- and our Dad who used ASL, and that would be a completely different language than English.   I really believe whether this was intentional or not; that one parent would be the translator /Signed English/ signer for the children, and then it would be "translated" to the other parent.  Sort of a High German - Low German for those who follow linguistics.  But there are days, when I am jealous of the super qualified interpreter I see on TV that is deftly interpreting or a new deaf person I don't know well signing  in total ASL- hands flying, signs I don't recognize, syntax I don't recognize, and I don't get it.  How does that happen?  Does a Spanish speaking person immersed in a language and culture from birth - suddenly lose their ability to "hear" their language?  Or do I just need a dose of deaf culture now and then.  I miss it.  Really I do.

Thanks for reading... ily.