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Hearing Things Differently.
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When I got home Sunday night after the November New Warrior Training
Adventure, my wife asked me the usual question: “How was it?”
“Humbling” I told her.
Like
all training weekends, there was magic happening everywhere at the
training site. Among the staff, among the initiates, and around the
circle.
But this weekend was different.
Among the 32 new
initiates, 9 men were deaf or hard of hearing. Two staffers were deaf,
and 4 were hearing men who served as interpreters.
Throughout
the weekend, men who can hear saw a world of expressive communication
most had never seen before. And the deaf and hard of hearing men
experienced an acceptance ¬– no, something more – an embracing love
many had thought didn’t exist.
It was humbling. But it took a
while to find that feeling. Like most of the other staffers on the
weekend, I checked in with fear at the first staff meeting.
Actually, that fear began back in September. When I learned the weekend would include deaf men.
You
know how it is. The Voice kicks in. “Oh, that’s going to be weird.
Maybe I shouldn’t do it. I don’t know sign language. Everything’s going
to be different. I might feel uncomfortable.”
I held on to that
burden for weeks. Every few days I’d consider stepping off the weekend.
I struggled with the fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear that I’d make
mistakes. Fear that I’d be left out.
But.
(You knew this was coming)
At the first staff meeting, I discovered I was wrong.
I
cherish the mix of excitement and camaraderie that permeates NWTA staff
meetings. Especially the first Monday meeting. When the men who have
spent weeks getting the training organized come together for the first
time. Men shift in their seats. Look around the circle. Clear their
throats. Some laugh. Some hug. Men acknowledge others they know. And
size up those they don’t.
This time, staff men talked about
their uncertainty. Because of the deaf and hard of hearing men on the
weekend, things would be different.
The weekend leaders
shared their ideas about how the weekend might change. How would the
deaf men get to the training site? How will music change during the
weekend? How would we greet men as they arrived? How do we handle the
communication in low light, or darkness?
It was clear there were
a lot of unknowns. And that was good. There was an excitement among the
staff that we’d be called on to improvise, be flexible, learn as we go.
And that felt comfortable to me. As if it relieved the burden I’d
carried about having to do everything right. If there were no rules, I
couldn’t fail!
And then Greg Gondron took over. He introduced us
to a deaf staff man, Brian Determan. I swear to the Universe, I felt a
warm blanket of calm float over me as soon as Brian smiled and started
signing to us. Man, what a presence he had. I was transfixed by his
expressions, and the graceful choreography in his signing.
Greg
and Brian led us into a process of beginning to understand the deaf and
hard of hearing world. Each hearing staff man put in ear plugs and then
we stood in the circle and tried to interact with each other without
speaking. We fumbled, wandered, and waved our hands around trying to
show an action or intention. It was a bit chaotic.
Afterwards,
nearly every hearing man said he felt a lot of fear during the process.
Some felt alone, some confused, and many felt angry.
I said I
felt left out. Isolated. As though the deaf men knew more than I did.
And Bob Beare expressed his feeling so well amid his tears when he
said: “I knew I could take my earplugs out and stop my fear and
confusion. These deaf and hard of hearing men can’t.”
I realized
that feeling of isolation had floated around in my head in the weeks
leading up to the training. Both for myself, and for the deaf men on
the training. But as I let myself be in the moment more and more, I
realized the dual nature if my expectation. I laughed at the irony.
These guys had an extended communication that I could only vaguely
touch. They talked with their hands, their faces, their entire bodies.
My isolation quickly transformed into awe.
Communicating an idea
between a speaking man, an interpreter, a signing man and back again
takes much longer than communication between two speaking men, or two
signing men. There was a lot of discussion among the leaders and
interpreters about how to handle each step of the weekend with the deaf
men.
The leaders embraced the idea of integrating all men in
the group, rather than separating either deaf men or hearing men. As a
staff member, I expected that integration might confuse people, but the
opposite was true. I saw more emphasis on communication. And I realized
how often we throw away words, or speak over each other so one man’s
words are drowned by another’s. I became acutely aware of the
limitations of spoken words, and the fluency of body language.
With
both signing and speaking happening simultaneously, it seemed everyone
paid more attention to meanings behind their words. The leaders were
mindful of slowing down as they talked, looking at each man’s face,
allowing their eye contact to linger a bit longer. It was a startling
reminder of the power of non-verbal communication.
In fact,
throughout the weekend, I often felt I learned more from watching the
signing men than I did from listening to the speaking men. Many times I
found myself staring in amazement as the interpreters worked. Or I’d be
lost in a deaf man’s graceful, eloquent expression.
I know
what a trip it is to close my eyes and let myself flow to the words and
music during parts of the weekend. But I wanted to tell the hearing men
to open their eyes and watch the interpreters instead!
I think
what we all learned the most is that it wasn’t a weekend about deaf
guys. It was a weekend that included deaf guys. We all learned new ways
to stretch beyond our limitations, face our fears, embrace our
strengths, and let go of the judgments we make about people we think we
don’t understand.
I staffed an 8-week initial I-Group that included
signing men and speaking men. The I-Group leader told me one of his
goals it to make it fun. I like that. We learned signs for all kinds of
feelings and intentions. We brainstormed ideas for transforming what
used to be spoken-word experiences into visual and sign-based
experiences for other I-Groups. It was a whole lot of fun, with plenty
of imaginative learning for all of us.
When I staff next
November's Deaf and Hard of Hearing NWTA, I'll come prepared with new
insights and confidence to help me support the deaf and hard of hearing
men with my head, heart, and soul. And so, humbly, my journey continues.
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