In a Perfect World
Having a Deaf Brother
By guest columnist Makena Seaver
Having a deaf brother is bonding moments in silence while catching frogs, turtles, crawdads, and tadpoles (before you knew that girls weren’t supposed to get muddy). You spend hours being out at the lake where non-verbal conversation is the best and most valued version of communication.
When you’re born, you don’t have a deaf brother. You have brothers, but deaf isn’t a word in your vocabulary yet. The concept of deaf is foreign. When you’re young, your brother lets you watch him play with LEGOs and he carries you around the house. He wins you toys from those grabber machines in the lobbies of movie theaters and arcades. He’s protective and loving. He’s your oldest brother.
Having a deaf brother doesn’t start until you’re in preschool and your family starts going to late night classes. You’re too young to pay close attention and all you can think about is the teacher’s pretty betta fish in the bowl on her desk. The classes are to help your family and your brother communicate using your hands; a concept called sign language is introduced. You thought you could communicate just fine already. You don’t remember anyone explaining to you what deaf was, but now you know. Until then you just had a brother. Now you have a deaf brother. But he still lets you watch him play with LEGOs, carries you around the house, and wins you toys from the grabber machines. He’s still protective and loving. He’s still your brother, and, frankly, his deafness doesn’t change anything for you.
Having a deaf brother is bonding moments in silence while catching frogs, turtles, crawdads, and tadpoles (before you knew that girls weren’t supposed to get muddy). You spend hours being out at the lake where non-verbal conversation is the best and most valued version of communication. Having a deaf brother is a huge advantage because you know how to find a target, plan an attack, and express excitement without making a sound.
Having a deaf brother is going through middle school learning when to bite your tongue and also learning when to speak up because your friends make deaf jokes. It’s getting made fun of when you can’t bite your tongue anymore, but not caring because it’s better to speak up and be unpopular than to foster ignorance by ignoring it. It’s knowing that your friends have never met a deaf person and don’t understand why making fun of a ‘deaf accent’ and pretending to be dumb are offensive. It’s your friends never understanding why that behavior makes you mad. Having a deaf brother is being fiercely protective of him—because he’s your brother. Anyone making fun of the deaf community becomes the friend you’ve now outgrown.
Having a deaf brother is sitting in his car and talking about relationships, feeling special that he’s asking you for advice. But you can’t hear him because he’s playing Gwen Stefani’s Hollaback Girl as loud as the speakers will go. You ask him about it and he tells you that he likes to feel the bass. This is what you will think about every time you hear that song.
Having a deaf brother is being a theatre-kid in high school, taking part in every musical and play offered. But the school never hires an interpreter. You’re sad that the talent you’re most drawn to can’t be shown off to your oldest brother. You wish sometimes that you had gotten into sports instead. But your brother goes to your shows sometimes anyway, because he loves you. You don’t understand until you’re older how much that means to you.
Having a deaf brother is hearing stories of deaf people who felt the vibrations of a harp and, in this way, ‘heard’ music. So you learn to play the harp. Now you’re hoping this is a talent you can show to your brother, one that he can participate in. You remember that he enjoyed the bass of Hollaback Girl. But the vibrations do nothing, and you feel sorry about it. Having a deaf brother is teaching your boyfriend how to sign “Nice to meet you.” You hope your brother notices that you’re trying, that you value his approval, and want your boyfriend to make an effort on his behalf. You hold your breath to see if the boyfriend executes it cleanly, as if he’s practiced, or if he fails and laughs it off. It’s losing interest in the guy if he isn’t willing to learn a little sign language. It’s teaching “Nice to meet you” to the next boyfriend . . . and the boyfriend after that.
Having a deaf brother is growing up loved, supported, and spoiled. It’s being told that if a guy ever hurts you, your brother would beat him up. And you telling your brother not to do anything when guys do hurt you, but still you feel comforted because he has your back. It’s building alien snowmen over Christmas break. It’s board games and summers by the lake. It’s loving the sound of your brother’s laugh and being able to understand him when others can’t. Having a deaf brother isn’t a disadvantage, it isn’t a hardship, it isn’t a chore. Having a deaf brother is just having an amazing brother who happens to be deaf. ~
H&V Communicator – Summer 2019