Great Moments in Parent/Professional Partnership
The guy who was knocked unconscious by his camera bouncing wildly on the strap around his neck would be ok, but he sported a large goose egg in the middle of his forehead for the remainder of the conference. That could have been me or Dr. Mary Pat Moeller, then-Director of the Deaf Education Center at Boystown National Research Hospital, because when the unfortunate incident took place, we were waiting in line together for our turn to human-cannonball down that skinny concrete mountain track in a small-wheeled metal cart without padding or helmet. It was a watershed moment in parent-professional partnership—would we still take the risky run ourselves?
In the midst of the sometimes traumatic, anxiety-ridden ride full of frustration, exasperation, and down-righteous anger over how hard it often is but shouldn’t be to raise and educate a child who is deaf or hard of hearing, where would we be without those who have come to this work out of a sense of calling?
Indeed, we’d been remarking that the Australia/New Zealand Conference on the Education of the Deaf (ANZCED) sported a line-up of recreational activities beyond anything ever attempted in America, or anywhere else for that matter. This was 2007, and “Up Time” at the H&V Leadership Conference hadn’t even been thought of yet. Now that I am thinking of it, I’ll give some credit to the Kiwis for modeling the most exuberantly dangerous networking agenda in the history of deaf education conferences worldwide. Mary Pat and I did take that run, and I have felt something akin to a trauma-bond with her ever since.
In the midst of the sometimes traumatic, anxiety-ridden ride full of frustration, exasperation, and down-righteous anger over how hard it often is but shouldn’t be to raise and educate a child who is deaf or hard of hearing, where would we be without those who have come to this work out of a sense of calling?
As I write, I’m thinking of so many professionals who’ve shared their wisdom, their time, and even their personal cell phone number with me to help in any way they could. I still have the letters from Dr. Daniel Ling—that aren’t even about my son Dane’s struggles to overcome his “profoundly deaf” late identification. Instead, my friend Dan wrote about making violins by hand—his passion in retirement. Also saved are the emails from Marc Marschark, PhD., whose responsiveness every single time I forwarded a parent’s question—or my own—was epic. I know from his prolific publishing, research, speaking and teaching schedule that Dr. Marschark was beyond busy, but he fielded everything I sent his way within the hour. If it’d take longer, he’d write, “I don’t know—but I know who does know. Let me find some answers and get back to you.” And he would, bringing some pithy content, and (if I were at his office) coffee beans. That’s right, coffee beans. He roasted his own, and he showed me how to do it.
It’s always been like that with Cheryl DeConde Johnson, and Christie Yoshinaga-Itano, too. I used to be so intimidated by them I could hardly match a noun to a verb in their presence. Nowadays we know which side of the bed the other prefers because in the nonprofit world, parent and professional bonding includes sharing the cost of a hotel room at a conference.
If I hadn’t had a deaf son, I’d have missed knowing so many brilliant, passionate people who far exceed the requisite professionalism of their job. They’re working as hard as any parent to make this world a better place for children who are Deaf or Hard of Hearing. Since I did have a deaf son, both love and biological imperative bring me to this work. But my professional colleagues chose this. In this new year, I’m grateful for those partnerships that have become enduring friendships.
Today, this is happening with a new generation of parents and professionals. You are calling each other the night before the IEP meeting . . . you are leaning into the resistance as a team, exponentially stronger. At some point, you’ll catch yourselves laughing or crying in a great moment that has everything and nothing to do with the work at hand. If this sounds unfamiliar to you now, then take a risky run together. Take a chance on trust. ~
H&V Communicator – Winter 2020