Friday, January 22, 2010


A Nine-Year-Old

I have a series of brief glimpses into my life as a hard-of-hearing(h-o-h) youngster. They will appear from time to time over the next few months, but probably not in successive posts. Dunno for certain. My writing skills are not very polished, but I will try my best.

Why do this? I think it is important for youngsters to know that emotional turmoil happens to all of us with hearing loss. It's not just you, alone, even though you might feel that way.

And for parents of h-o-h kids, know that hurt feelings will happen to your child, no matter how protective you are. Always keep the communication lines for one-on-one conversations open. Keep in mind, the more worried my parents became, the less I shared with them. I would hide my hearing frustrations just to keep Mom and Dad from fussing over me.


Emotional Nines

Sometimes emotional scars are so deeply etched in memory, it’s as if the events occurred yesterday. No amount of mental patchwork can smooth the hurt. For this nine-year-old, the pain would strike again and again.

* * *

A blackboard eraser whistled overhead, parting hairs, that was all it took to grab my attention. Mr. Tamburro had a way of keeping his students from daydreaming.

Every one of his students received one-on-one mentoring when needed. He wrote in my report card: “James is a very nice boy and he works hard. I’m going to spend some extra time with him in Reading and Social Studies in an attempt to raise his grades.”

My hearing loss, at such a young age, led me to mispronounce words. For example, I had difficulty hearing the ‘th’ sound. Improved reading skills could aid in learning proper pronunciations.

And the next marking period, he wrote: “Jimmy improved a great deal. I think we’ve got him moving now.”

Cradling a stockpile of his eraser missiles, Mr. Tamburro was true to his word.

And me? My confidence soared!

* * *


All the fourth grade boys had gathered in the gym for PE. I never wore the Body-aid hearing device during gym for fear of breaking it. The PE teacher, Mueller, was late. So naturally, all of us boys were goofing off. My back was to the doorway as Mueller finally entered the gym.

“Okay guys, sorry I’m late, let’s take attendance.”

But I wasn’t facing the doorway, so I never saw Mueller enter the gym, nor heard him. I continued goofing off. All of a sudden, wham, this big strong hand slapped me hard, across the back of my head, because I was still yapping away while Mueller wanted quiet!

“Knock it off, jimmy, and pay attention!”

Stunned, I crouched to the floor, making myself small, but my instinct was to defend myself. That’s just what I did. Springing forward, I connected with a solid body shot!. Slammed him one right into the gut! A knuckle sandwich!

Mueller and I tussled; him pushing, shoving, then me, with fist a-flying. It was a no-win confrontation for a demonic nine-year-old boy. I ended up confined until the conclusion of PE. Mueller tried to approach my corner during class.

“Get away from me, you jerk,” I hollered. “Leave me alone!”

I was emotionally out of control, tears streaking my cheeks, and would swing wildly whenever Mueller came within range. Somehow, he managed to get my brother Gary out of his class to come calm me down. Gary was in sixth grade. From time to time he looked after me.

“jimmy, what's going on,” Gary inquired. “Why are you bawling?”

“Because that jerk of a teacher hit me,” I whimpered.

“If you don’t settle down, you’re gonna get into worse trouble. Why’d he hit you?”

“Cuz he’s a jerk! I was talking while he sneaked up behind me and slapped my head! Didn’t even know he was in the gym. Just because I can’t hear, now grownups are gonna smack me around?”

Gary had a conference with Mueller. It was decided if I shook hands, all would be squared and forgiven. Forgiven? Never again did I turn my back on that mean jerk.

A nine year-old slugging it out with the strongest adult in the school? Damn demon just won’t go away!

Returning to regular class, Mr. Tamburro could see that something was amiss. He took me aside to ask what’s up, “jimmy, what’s going on kid, you look like a train wreck?”

As I fought back the rainstorm, “Awe... umm... gee... it’s nothing Mr. T. Just all tuckered out from running around in gym class.”

I just couldn’t muster enough courage to tell him my hearing had failed me. Heck, I was nine years old, simultaneously dealing with this newfound anger and shaking with fear. Hopelessly confused, I didn’t understand why.

Lots of kids were in that PE class and to this day I don’t know if any of them ever spoke up. At least two teachers had to know something out of the ordinary occurred, Mr. Tamburro and Gary’s teacher.

And Gary, well I’m not sure if he ever told Mom and Dad. Maybe he just felt embarrassed for having such an out-of-control kid brother.

As for that confidence Mr. Tamburro instilled in me?

. . . Crushed.

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