UNTIL THE AGE OF SIX, I thought that the entire world was Deaf. It was only when my parents accompanied me to a parent–teacher meeting, while I was in the first standard, that I realised not all families function the way mine does. We arrived for the meeting on a sunny winter morning, and I showed them where my classroom was, where I sat, who my friends were and which teacher I liked the best. What I had not gauged was that the other people present were looking at us. In a room full of my classmates and their parents, we were the only ones using our hands to talk. I could not wrap my head around the fact that this was not how other kids communicated, that instead they used their voices to say what they wanted to their parents. It was at that moment that my parents had to have “the conversation” with me—when they explained that they were Deaf.
I am a CODA, a Child of Deaf Adults. I grew up with many other hearing people around me, but it never occurred to me that it was possible to have different family dynamics to the one I was used to. Growing up in such a family as a hearing child, you do not really understand the world in the way you are expected to. For most CODAs, Sign language is their mother tongue. We sign first and speak later.
I was born into a family of 17 Deaf people. Everyone signed—this was weaved into our everyday lives. I believe the realisation I had that day at school was shocking because most of my uncles and aunts had children like me, who transitioned from Sign language to spoken language with ease. Furthermore, my parents are active in the Deaf community and most of my friends at the time were my parents’ friends’ children. Since Deaf people usually form a tightly knit community, I often had people signing around me.
I had always seen Sign language as a big part of myself. My closest friends would come to meet my parents and attempted to learn some basic signs for salutations. These children, who remained my friends throughout school, also made the effort to learn more about what it meant to have parents like mine. Many of my friends’ parents also figured out ways to communicate with my parents by writing on paper or via me. When we visited each other’s houses, we would also realise how everyday functioning is very different in our homes. When you ring the bell at my house, a big bulb in every room flickers, along with the sound, helping to identify the arrival of someone at the door. Something so normal to me was fascinating to others. Similarly, there were always loud sounds of utensils clinking and rattling whenever they were being washed or kept aside. These sounds had never bothered me, but I soon realised they were not a daily occurrence at other homes. I was lucky to have strong friendships where I did not have to feel ashamed or humiliated about being Deaf-parented.