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5 They Don’t See Me as Deaf I befriended Jason at fourteen, a straight-A student who was purposeful in everything he did. He tackled every task with great passion and became easily bored with projects that offered no challenges. We had a common interest in sport and ideas. Through Jason, I felt more involved in school life than ever before. He was the pal, guide, and friend who kept me abreast with class happenings and general gossip that I may have missed. While I couldn’t compete with him in the classroom, we challenged each other in cricket and golf. I was the captain and he was the vice captain of the school’s underage cricket team, and we spent many a lunchtime together devising tactics and finalizing batting orders. Jason was my link between loneliness and a world of interaction, but this closeness had a price. I never knew homosexuality existed until classmates labeled Jason and me as gay. One day in the locker rooms, I could sense many snide remarks but was unable to speechread what they were saying. I walked to my locker. The kids moved out of my path and formed a horseshoe about me. It was difficult to pick individual faces as everyone wore the school uniform of white and brown. They clustered about as sheep do, and none was game enough to speak directly to me. “What’s your problem?” I asked to no one in particular. In the mass was Jane, an attractive mousy blonde I had a crush on. My eyes met hers. Safe in numbers, she was mute in the expectant crowd. I opened my locker and a sheet of paper fell to the floor. Cowardly laughter broke out. I picked it up. There was a crude sexual drawing of Jason and me. My heart tensed and hurt with thick pulses of blood. The school bell sounded. They dispersed immediately after, and Jane was last to leave. She sensed my hurt and offered no sympathy. Her beauty appeared smeared with disgust and misguided hate. 37 n e i t h e r- n o r 38 Jason told me very soon after that he would have to stop talking to me because he feared further ridicule. This was a terrible blow. With the value of hindsight, the reason for this misinterpretation could be that boys tend to be more group-orientated than girls, who often have a close friend. Other students saw my “neediness,” apparent intensity, and the close attachment with Jason as “feminine,” and therefore sexual. Dad and I sat in the deck chairs of our courtyard when he explained same-sex love. A hose flooded the lawn and the warm twilight air was heavy with the aroma of wet plants. On the coffee table was a leatherclad book with gold lettering and next to it the smoke from Dad’s cigarette rose in a tiny typhoon from an ashtray my mother had made from clay. He said, “Many of the greatest people in history were homosexual. Michelangelo, Oscar . . .” “I don’t care!” Looking intently at me, Dad put the cigarette to his lips, inhaled then exhaled. “It’s probably the tall poppy syndrome.” “What does that mean?” “Australians like to cut down the tallest poppy. Because you are doing well at cricket, the other kids are trying to cut you down.” I watched him. His calmness was infectious. “Remember, Jason’s a straight-A student. They will want to cut him down too.” “How can I be a tall poppy when I am deaf? And when I don’t do so well as other boys with girls and in the classroom?” This surprised him. Taking time to answer, Dad said, “They don’t see you as deaf. You obviously have something they wished for.” They don’t see me as deaf. They want something I have. There was a pause in the conversation. I sensed Dad wanted to say something. “See this,” he said. His hand reached for a book beside the ashtray, saying, “This is The Picture of Dorian Gray. Oscar Wilde, a writer and playwright who is famous for his wit, wrote it. Wilde was a tall poppy and he was cut down when he was sent to prison.” “What was he in prison for?” “Homosexuality.” We engaged in a conversation about Wilde’s rise to fame and fall from grace. Dad had long encouraged me to read literature, the type of quality writing that...

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