Disability Act of 1972

I don't know what to do anymore.

My employer has changed to a new healthcare provider. Unlike the previous provider, this insurance plan includes no hearing-aid coverage. It is not the insurance company at fault. They provide coverage. My employer elected not to include hearing health coverage.

So, I have gone from having financial assistance for hearing-aid purchases, to having none.

What does this mean to me?

As far as hearing-aids, I will not be able to replace the ones I have. Nor will I be able to afford repairs.

Personally, it is akin to having my civil rights ripped away. I had a taste of equality for two years. Now it is gone.

It's weird. When I was a teenager, I thought life would improve for those of us with hearing loss, especially with the Disability Act of 1972. But as long as we are systematically denied insurance coverage, we will NEVER be equal.

NEVER!

It Stays With You for A Lifetime

 Part 2

The end of my senior year, our Block I sports awards.

Since my dad was an alcoholic, I discouraged my parents from attending. All I expected was to pick up my varsity letters in football and track. No biggie. I never dreamed I could be so wrong. What transpired was totally unexpected.

Ironically, or perhaps intentionally, I was seated at a table with my biology teacher, Mr. Dempster.

My sophomore year, I had a failing grade in his biology class. With my hearing loss, it was impossible for me to understand the unfamiliar biology vocabulary. This difficulty with understanding unfamiliar words was something I didn’t yet understand, nor did the adults involved in my life. 

Failing his subject, Mr. Dempster required me to attend after-school classes. Since I had made the varsity football team as a sophmore, I wasn’t suppose to miss after-school practice sessions. I had a choice, attend after-school biology or football. I wrongly chose football.

To make a long story short, caught doing the wrong thing, I was required to stop at Mr. Dempster’s house and apologize for skipping his after-school class. He was cool about it, and we seemed to kind of connect as student and teacher. But, I still miserably failed biology that year, and had to retake it the next semester.

So, back to the Block I sports awards.

I couldn’t hear. The awards came up, the recipients announced. All I could do was watch.

The award for Competitive Spirit came up… the people at my table indicated it was for me… and I got up to receive the award. Well, that was nice, I thought. I didn’t expect anything, but this was cool.

The next award, I totally expected another classmate to earn this, the Unsung Hero Award. It is one of the most prestigious sports awards at my school. This award represents everything about your character. It stays with you for life.

My name was announced. Again, I didn’t hear it. Mr. Dempster proudly looked at me and told me so. I was never more humbled, and speechless.

But, this story doesn’t end here. No.

One weekend later, and just before graduation, I was playing a parking-lot version of broomball. One of my opponents high-sticked me, and slashed a cut above my eye. Bleeding, we went to the nearest home, Josh’s. His father called my dad to come take me to the hospital for stitches.

While Josh and I waited on his porch for my dad, he explained his opinion. He told me that the only reason I was awarded the Unsung Hero Award, and not him, was because people felt sorry for me, because of my hearing loss.

I should explain… Josh finished quite high academically in our class, racking up numerous scholarships and recognitions.

And my one moment of glory…. despite Josh... ???

Well... thanks Terry... you were the best, the best of friends.

High School Sucks? Part I

This is the 1st of a 2 part story .  Teen years and high school were rough. No one makes it without help. Your help...

The Good... the Bad

In some ways, I've really felt cheated in life, but I still believed in myself.

My neighbor friend, Terry, was like another brother to me. He died in an auto accident, age 19. I was only 16. I was lucky to have three older brothers, but it was Terry whom I looked up to.

Terry convinced me to take up sports in junior high school. Prior to then, I was just a wimp with no purpose. He encouraged me to tryout for football, so I did, and I made the team. No biggy, since most kids did make the team. But I was different. I needed an identity, and unknown to me, a vehicle to normalcy, to coolness. Football became that vehicle.

The next year as a sophomore, I was trying out for the junior varsity team. Because of my speed, instead, I made the varsity squad. It was totally unexpected. And the junior-class players were quite upset, especially since a few of their mates were assigned to the jv team. Some of the juniors were out to get me, but the senior players protected me. They told me so, and it was kinda cool just to know they cared about me. All I could do was play hard. Eventually, the junior players would come around to respect me.

But it was all because of Terry. I never would have tried for these achievements without his encouragement.

I was blown away when he died.

 It was a hot night, July 3rd. That evening my parents had a big row, so I fled the house.  I walked the village streets, had my usual imaginary pissed-off discussions with God. Why me, kinda stuff. A sorry attitude, but I was just a kid. I never really experienced a time without hearing loss.

That night I ventured back home after 10PM. Our house was all dark. It was quiet… still. Everyone had gone to bed. Regardless, I didn’t want to go inside. So I took a seat on the front porch steps. As I sat there thinking about my own fate… my parents fighting… life in general… a taxi-cab pulled around the corner… as it screeched to a stop… Terry’s mom jumped from the rear seat and ran to her house.

He was dead... a car accident. Wet roads and alcohol were involved. Someone else was said to be driving, but it was Terry’s car. I never blamed the driver.

I dedicated football to Terry. But I told no-one. There were discussions and rumors about Terry in our locker room, but I couldn’t share my feelings. We had been too close. No one would understand… or so I felt.  So I just competed as hard as I could. 

And I was rewarded….

screams

SCREAMS

cruel affliction, profound hole

darkness moans, alone the soul

silent loudness, quiet blast

lurks the Demon, shadow cast

anvil, hammer, trumpets blare

chain reaction, trembling air

trilling whistles, pounding drums

cranked up volume, rendered mum

a deaf soul seeks no misery

it finds him through anxiety

from sight not sound, reactions come

frustrations tame him, thoughts go numb

twisted tension, rising tide

isolation, boxed inside

crushed emotions, self-esteem

deafened silence....Demon screams

 Youth and Counseling

I was 16 years-old at the time. It was unusual for both of my parents to accompany me to a hearing test. After completing the test, I was seated in the waiting room, while my parents met in conference with the audiologist. 20 minutes later, I was called into the meeting with all three.

The audiologist informed me that instead of one hearing-aid, I now needed two. Bursting into tears, I shouted, “No way, I’m freaky enough with one. I’ll not wear two!”

And I got my way.

This outburst clearly signaled all was not well with me. If ever there was a time for counseling, this was it.  But there was no attempt to address my frustrations and attitude; not from the audiologist, nor from my parents.

As a teenager who was hearing-impaired most all of my life,  my mind would automatically substitute words for the ones I didn’t hear. It was very confusing whenever I realized my information was wrong. I hated everything about who I was, what I had become. And I would not let on how much it bothered me. Thus, the frustration festered to the point... I wanted out.

I can’t imagine how different life could have been with counseling help as a teenager.

In summation, all you Mom's and Dad's out there, with hearing-loss, the stress weighs heavily. No matter what age one loses hearing, we all can benefit from counseling.

Bullies Again!

A bit of action on the river.

 This is a repost from 2 years ago. A little story about bullies. 

Lately there has been a lot of news about bullies. So I thought I would put up this true story of my own little journey thru that pleasant experience we like to call . . . "high school."

 

I Stood Alone

The evil ones lurked behind me on the one-mile walk to school, following at three or four paces back. I heard some giggling; turned around to see Raf and Jason, two kids from my gym class. They seem to be talking to each other, but I could not grasp the conversation and so, continued on my way.

Soon came a mumble, followed by silence, then more giggling. I turned around, "What’s up guys? Whatcha say?"

Looking at me quizzically, "Huh? We didn’t say anything."

So I continued the journey, but could hear more giggling. I decided not to respond. They got louder and louder until I could finally hear what it was they were saying.
"Jimmy is an asshole," over and over again, followed by more giggling and more snickering.

I told them to knock it off, but again they denied anything was happening.

I figured at some point I would have to deal with this, but I never counted on the evil ones to up the ante.

* * *

Junior High was rough. Everything was new to me. Having multiple teachers, as opposed to the one teacher in grade school, was a recipe for disaster. The amount of focus required for me to hear, under different circumstances for each class, was over-whelming. There was no special assistance then, no note-takers, no voice-interpreters, nor any affordable tutors.

So what’s a hard-of-hearing kid to do? A mainstreamed kid, one who could experience the world from only a hearing-impaired perspective. From age six to age thirteen I wore this box-like body-aid. It had scratches, dents, with this embarrassing brace to hold it to my chest. Somehow this device would stick with me for four more years. And by some miracle, it now sits on my fireplace mantle, still in working condition.

* * *

As I joined the sea of bodies flowing through the school hallways, weaving my way to the next class, I heard that giggling sound again. Then I heard the "asshole" part.

Why me, I thought. Just because of this damn cord running from my chest to my ear?

I forced Raf over to the lockers and said my piece. "You and me are gonna meet after school! Meet me at the fields!"

For some odd reason, I don’t to this day know why I said this next bit, but it was a ‘live or die’ situation for a desperate teenager.

"You can bring all your sassy friends, too! I’ll fight all of ’em, but I’ll only fight ’em one at a time!"

Raf was laughing hysterically. He couldn’t believe that I called out his entire gang. “It’s gonna be a feast,” he marveled.

I was scared. I was nervous. Bypassing the fields, I hurried straight home after school. Soon there-after, came a knock on the front door. It was Raf. Could he please, please, please, be here to apologize?

"Come on Jimmy," he sneered. "We got a play date, remember?"

It was one of those cold brisk autumn days. I never thought to grab a sweatshirt. I was shaking so hard from cold and fright, my bones rattled. The sight of me shivering must have made Raf’s wolfpack feel quite confident.

At the fields, a gang of eight formed a circle. I was bull-in-the-ring. Jason stepped in first. He started with a little shove, then I cut loose. A flurry of hard body shots and he was finished. I beat up two more lighties, then they all scattered, running for safety.

But, Raf, he was their alpha male. He could not run. Alone now, we faced off. After a few exchanges, I knocked him down, jumped on him and grabbed his head. Fueled on adrenaline, all my anger, and all my emotions wanted to destroy this coward, to lift his head up and slam it against the turf.

But I could not.

My mind raced from thought to thought; all of this hate, this poison bottled up inside, where did it come from? Would it ever stop? Would it consume me?

Meanwhile, the rest of Raf’s gang had alerted his older brother Joe. He arrived on the scene as I sat atop Raf’s chest, mulling over what to do next.

"When you’re done with him, let me know," Joe calmly stated, then went over to a rock wall to have a front row seat.

I thought it over. "Say uncle!"

Raf mumbled "uncle" as requested.

"No, that’s not loud enough. I couldn’t hear you. Scream it!"

And so he did. In tears, he cried out an "uncle" that echoed across the valley on that brisk autumn day; humiliated in front of his brother, a brother who would not save his sorry butt for what he did.

As it turned out, these were kids from my own neighborhood.

Betrayed by the kids I thought were my friends, the damage was done.

In The Beginning

It started with elephants, in the First Grade.

The teacher gave a bit of a lecture, then wanted us to draw a picture. I thought she instructed us to draw and color any circus animal, so I did my best to create a circus horse; one where the rider attempts jumps and acrobatics.

When our alotted time expired, I lined up with the other kids to hand in my Picasso. Noticing that my classmates had all drawn elephants, I slunk to the back of the line. Now standing solo in front of the teacher, her piercing eyes burning a hole through my 6 year-old soul, I had become her demon boy.

I pleaded for a second chance. She refused. Why?

The very next morning, upon entering the classroom, up above the blackboard, was a row of elephants followed by... gasp... one single horse. I stood still, waiting for hell to freeze over. I wished I'd die right then and there; six years-old.

Embarrassed, yes, but worse, scheduled for that evening was a one-on-one Parent-Teacher Conference.

As tears streaked my cheeks, I begged her to take my horse down. Again, she refused. Why???

A few weeks later I had my hearing tested for the first time; soon to be followed by a body-aid.

This was only... the beginning.

* * *

Well, that is how it all began for me. As a kid, you don't accept hearing loss. It takes a series of blows to break your spirit. And still, you don't want to believe you are different. Somehow demonized, cursed, forever falling to the bottom of the barrel, climbing back up, peering over the rim, only to be kicked back down again.