DVD Subtitles: Why Is It So Hard?

Living life as a deaf person can be difficult, particularly when I was not born deaf, and when I’m not 100% deaf. I’m what’s called profoundly deaf, in a nutshell I am truly 100% deaf to a large percentage of different pitches (more than 50%) and the pitches I am able to hear have to be at least 140 decibels for the sound to even register with me – that’s the same volume as a jet engine! The truth is, a small plane could fly over my head and I would not hear it. So, I am deaf, but since I still pick up pieces of sound, not completely.

I’ve always had hearing loss or been hard of hearing, but it was never crippling. In school, I always asked to sit in the front even though I had perfect eyesight. I always had music and things on maximum volumes and when having a conversation I needed a person to maintain eye contact. Even though all of this was the case as far back as I can remember, hearing loss never occurred to me. It never occurred to me that I needed people to look at me because I was actually reading their lips, something I instinctively picked up and taught myself how to do. And that’s why I wanted to be in the front of a class etc. My parents just assumed I didn’t listen. I’m not sure why, because my family has a brittle bone disease that also causes severe hearing loss. And I have this disease, as does my mother and my brother. My mother is also hard-of-hearing, so why didn’t anyone ever think of following up? That’s a whole other story for another time. But the point is, no one ever questioned my hearing, and I never had a hearing test done.

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An Open Letter To The AWP #AWP16

Last April, I attended my first-ever AWP (Association of Writers & Writing Programs) conference. I was nervous and excited. Nervous because I am profoundly deaf, so any type of public forum can be difficult and that’s with the proper accommodations. Excited because I was finally taking steps forward to meet, connect with and engage other writers, editors and educators. There is something about being around that creative energy – it is thrilling, inspiring and a serious kick-in-the-butt that I felt I really needed.

I did everything I was supposed to do. I signed up with the Early-Bird registration and I contacted AWP well in advance describing the accommodations I knew I needed. Being profoundly deaf means that I am deaf to the majority of pitches, but not all pitches. The pitches I am able to hear, have to be as loud as or louder than a small jet engine (130 decibels), so I don’t always feel like “hard of hearing” quite captures just how deaf I am. And that is the term I choose – deaf, because unlike profoundly deaf, people understand what it means. That being said, because I am not completely deaf, and because my hearing loss happened later in life (much later) I do not know sign language. Instead I rely on high-powered hearing aids and different listening devices to assist when hearing speakers that both directs the speaker’s voice to my hearing aids directly, but filters other sounds in the room off. I also read lips, if I am close enough to someone to do so.

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AWP Strikes Out, Kate Gale Doesn’t Do It Any Favors

AWP (the Association of Writers and Writing Programs) has come under fire for its lack of inclusion and transparency. Basically, a bunch of people proposed panels geared towards “minority issues” – good God, I hate that phrase – and they were all struck down. In some cases, the AWP issued ridiculous statements such as “not enough people proposed disability panels so we struck them all down” or simply went after anyone who dared question their authority. Kate Gale, Managing Editor for Red Hen Press, had a different point of view to share. She has since tried to write it all off as a poor attempt at humor, but no one is buying what she’s selling. Here is her original blog/article on the Huffington Post, and here is my response. (The link has been updated – it goes to an archive of her blog post.)

Dear Miss Gale,

I want to take a moment to thank you for your courage in speaking up for all of “us”. Your point was clear, your eloquence masterfully getting to the root of an issue that has been plaguing the fine organization that is AWP. AWP does not need to be representative of its members, nor does it need to worry about trivial things like transparency. If you’re a member of AWP then you must understand that the AWP is all of us: as long as you’re a white, heterosexual, able-bodied Christian with a definite preference for the males. If you’re not in this group, AWP is still you, but please be sure to shut up, sit down and deal with what face AWP chooses to put on. It’s choosing that face for your own good.

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Out Of My Life… Three Years Later

On June 16, 2012 I saw my mother for the very last time. It was brief; she was just dropping off my sister, thirty minutes late. I was getting married and my sister was my flower maiden, she was going to be a freshman in high school so flower girl didn’t really seem appropriate. At the time, I didn’t know that that would be the last time I would have any sort of contact with her. The morning was crazy and just got crazier and unpleasant, mostly because of her. But despite her trying so hard to be the dark cloud on what was the happiest day of my life – that’s not why she’s been cut out of my life.

Toxic Relationships

I’ve never really had a mother – not really. My biological mother was unstable, cruel and violent. Police were involved on several different instances by the time I was fifteen, teachers made concerned inquiries and every day that I lived with this woman was a day at war – not knowing how I would come out of it okay. My mother would threaten to kill herself because of me almost every day. She would fly into a rage, throwing me across the room, beating me, kicking me and sometimes someone like my sister would be collateral damage, which was also my fault.

By the time I was fifteen I was out of her house, the streets were safer. I don’t stop to consider this, but I know such statements make other people pause. Part of me is sad I never got to be a kid. From the age of seven I had to learn how to survive and tried to shield my two younger siblings from her. I was the oldest… I could handle it. Better me than them.

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A New Microwave In Question: When “The Best” Becomes Inconvenient

In every marriage there is one primary person who keeps track of the finances. It’s almost never one-sided, but someone checks online banking or sets up the auto-payments, looks through the bills to make sure everything is on the up-and-up and budgets for weeks ahead. In my marriage that person is me – it wasn’t something I asked for, it just kind of happened.

I’m a planner, and since I’ve been on my own for more than fifteen years (emancipated when I was fifteen) and have worked since I was ten, I know the importance of money, financial planning and stretching a penny so far*, my husband is often in awe. Recently, after eighteen months of planning, saving, moving money around and looking for the right deal, we bought a new oven. This wasn’t a “we wish we had a new one” kind of thing, our old oven had been on the fritz since November 2013. The control panel was all wonky and it would constantly have a power failure, which while annoying wasn’t the biggest deal. The big deal was what it didn’t do when it didn’t have a power failure, the temperature kept climbing so that whatever was in the oven was charred and smoking in under four minutes. Talk about a fire hazard! Needless to say, whenever I’ve cooked or baked in the twenty months, I have kept guard over the oven to make sure nothing blows up, which makes multitasking kind of difficult.

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